


A Truth Universally Acknowledged

by epsilonargus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, But man, Fluff and Angst, Gentleman Harry Potter, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Pining, Pride and Prejudice References, Regency Harry Potter, tis difficult, tried my best to write like Austen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilonargus/pseuds/epsilonargus
Summary: It has been four years since the war. Mr. Henry Bennet is perfectly pleased with his domestic life at Longbourn, managing the affairs of his demanding mother and many sisters. But a new Muggle gentleman moves into Netherfield Park, and he brings with him a surprising figure from Mr. Henry's past ...





	A Truth Universally Acknowledged

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried my best to write like Jane Austen, but IT IS NOT EASY FOR SURE. I had fun with it nonetheless, and I hope this story entertains you! Thank you to the prompter for such a fun prompt, and to the fest mods for running such an interesting fest.
> 
> Also, a HUGE thanks to K for beta-ing <3 Always a rock I could count on :)

**CHAPTER I**

Mr. Henry Bennet is of the firm opinion that there is nothing fairer than the English countryside on a fine summer’s day such as this. His gaze sweeps across the verdant fields, the round green trees, and the quiet country lane with warm appreciation. He is secure in his solitude on the way back to Longbourn from Netherfield Park.

The grand estate has been let at last to a young man of large fortune from the north of England, and Mr. Henry has been obliged by his mother to visit him. Mr. Bennet was very direct in his refusal to wait upon a Muggle; Mrs. Bennet would surely have acquiesced with his haughty disregard of Muggles, if the man were not so wealthy.

‘Careful, Harry,’ his younger sister Lizzy whispered, as he passed her on his way out earlier. ‘Mother has already devised a stratagem to have Jane or you married to her Mr. Bingley.’ She laughed at the disgruntled face he gave her. ‘I pray for your sakes that he is a handsome young man.’

Harry found Bingley to be indeed a handsome young man, with the most agreeable, pleasing manners. He was natural and unaffected in his delight with the countryside, and expressed excitement about the activities he anticipated partaking here.

‘What fine hunting we will have!’ he cried. ‘Mr. Bennet, I do hope you will join my party and I in our hunting when we are more settled here. I am most happy to find such welcoming neighbours in Hertfordshire. Why, I have not lacked for dinner invitations since I came!’ 

‘In that case, I find that I must apologise on behalf of Hertfordshire for imposing so upon your gracious hospitality,’ Harry replied.

‘Oh, no, no, it has been a _pleasure_ ,’ his host assured him, with a smile. ‘I am glad to have such happy company.’

With his tall, fine figure, pleasant countenance and status as an unmarried man, Mr. Charles Bingley is certain to cause a stir in society here, Muggle and wizard alike. Harry regards this with amused condolence for the other man, especially so when Mrs. Bennet and his youngest sister Lydia ply him with question upon question about Bingley.

‘I thought you declared yourself incapable of loving a Muggle,’ Lizzy says to Lydia at breakfast the morning after Harry’s visit to Bingley.

‘Certainly, unless he is as handsome as Fred and George describe him to be,’ their youngest sister retorts, tossing her curls over her shoulder. ‘Be a kind sister and do not spoil my fun, Lizzy! It is so tiresome when society is as unchanging as it is here. Allow me this one instance of excitement over a new gentleman in the county.’

‘Has your time at Hogwarts not given you something to fill your empty head with, other than the dull topic of handsome gentlemen?’ their father remarks from behind the tome on the Fae he has propped up against the butter crock.

Mrs. Bennet is quick to censure her husband for what she sees as an unjust attack upon her favourite child. ‘It is only to be expected for a young girl to have her head turned by a handsome young man once in a while! Yes, it is only to be expected when you do not take us to London or Bath for more varied society.’

Around the table, Harry and his sisters sigh, some of them louder than others. Mrs. Bennet has taken up of late a campaign to persuade Mr. Bennet of the utility of a holiday. Naturally, Mr. Bennet, whose sole duty is to be obstinate with his wife for as long it amuses him, cannot be so easily exhorted.

Harry waves his wand, summoning to him the teapot hovering near Jane, and pours himself another cup of tea. He resigns himself to yet another breakfast enlivened by his mother’s poorly matched sallies against his father, who reduces Mrs. Bennet to incoherent ramblings with a few choice ripostes. Harry detests watching such humiliating exchanges.

Mr. Bennet is a self-professed scholar of the Fae and their magic long-disappeared from the world of men, and chooses to spend his days in his well-stocked library, moving himself only to tease his wife and children. He is so odd a mixture of sarcastic humour, selfishness and reserve that the experience of thirty years is insufficient for Mrs. Bennet in comprehending him. It is unfortunate that Mrs. Bennet is a woman of mean understanding and flighty temper, which ill enables her to exert any form of control or influence over her husband’s egocentrism.

For all their faults, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are unabashedly proud of their brood of six children, of which Harry is the second eldest. There is Jane, who is often pronounced the prettiest girl in the county. Her demeanour is so sweet and kind that she endears herself to everyone who meets her.

Lizzy is a year younger than Harry, their closeness in age matched with a marked similarity in thinking. She has their father’s wit, tempered by an equal measure of self-deprecation, and has such a friendly, playful disposition her company is often sought by those who know her.

The middle sister Mary lives in London, with their uncle and aunt Gardiner, brother and sister-in-law to Mrs. Bennet. The most studious of the Bennet children, and the only Ravenclaw, she has chosen to take apprenticeship under the renowned Potions Master Slughorn after graduation from Hogwarts. Mr. Bennet could often be found nodding sagely over letters he received from her, notwithstanding the fact that Potions is not his area of expertise.

The two youngest, Kitty and Lydia, would in normal circumstances be intimidated by their accomplished older sisters. However, Kitty is by nature an easy-going soul and happy enough to celebrate her older siblings, while Lydia has a stout, brash confidence instilled by an overly indulgent mother. Save for Harry, for whom she holds the deepest regard, she takes into account no one’s opinions or thoughts.

Harry is the only son, and since returning from London four years ago, has been placed in charge of the Longbourn estate, which must encompass the various affairs of its inhabitants. His mother would have him place his sisters’ statuses as single women at the forefront of his concerns, citing their insufficient fortune for the urgency.

‘How wonderful it must be for rich women and their lucky relations – to have the liberty to choose to be single for as long as one wishes,’ Lizzy remarked once.

Harry does not think their situation as dire as his mother supposes. After consulting his dear friend, Mrs. Hermione Weasley, he is confident that he is capable of husbanding the estate of two thousand a year to provide for his five sisters and himself. To add to the two thousand a year are the plants Jane grows in their greenhouses and the Granian winged horses Lizzy breeds, with help from Kitty. Jane’s plants are prized as high-quality potion ingredients all over Great Britain, and Lizzy’s horses could fetch up to five hundred Galleons per animal.

His sisters contribute more to the Bennet coffers than Harry himself. When he broached the possibility of him teaching at Hogwarts, Mrs. Bennet was mortified that he would give up being a gentleman for employment and was effusive in her pleas for him to stay. Jane would not hear of it, and Lizzy merely rolled her eyes.

‘No, Harry, you would serve us far better by staying. Longbourn would surely fall apart if you should leave it to us,’ she said, waving her butter knife around the table.

Longbourn’s management was admittedly in a dastardly state when Harry first took it on. Between his father’s innate carelessness and the war, the books were in such a state that Harry has to seek Hermione’s help over a Floo-call. Harry is at present confident enough of an estate manager that he does not go to bed fretting over illogical sums, and as a consequence, at leisure to be sent by his mother on errands to secure his sisters’ future marriages.

* * *

**CHAPTER II**

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a few families with whom the Bennets are particularly intimate: the Weasleys, the Lovegoods and the Diggorys. The four families bear a long history with the area, their ancestors having settled here long before, as Mr. Bennet is fond of saying, the Muggles invaded. The principal reason for the phenomenon is the land being rich in magic, a quality that has long served to draw wizards and magical creatures of all creeds to the spot.

The Weasley clan is hence, distinguished by their Ministry-ordained duty to protect the magical creatures of Hertfordshire from Muggle notice. The present Mr. Weasley is aided in his work by his two eldest sons, William and Charles, the latter of whom is Lizzy’s particular friend. They are both fanatical about magical creatures, and could be depended upon to fly into the forest at the drop of a hat in aid of a creature in distress.

It was a favourite nightmare of Mrs. Bennet’s that Charles and Lizzy would make a match of it, her deploring the Weasleys’ lack of fortune (‘Seven children, and their estate being so small!’) and the connection to Mrs. Molly Weasley that must be borne (there is a rivalry nursed on both sides that stemmed from their time together at Hogwarts). When Charles announced his engagement to Mr. Nicias Scamander, the second son of a prominent wizarding family from Cumbria, Mrs. Bennet was one of the first to greet the news with genuine glee.

‘I wonder if she might retain her joy when she discovers the five thousand Galleons a year Mr. Nicias’ papa has bestowed upon him,’ Lizzy muttered to Harry.

‘You would be wise to keep the knowledge to yourself,’ he said mockingly. ‘Our dear mother might connive to install you as Charlie’s child-bearer if she thinks there is benefit to such connections after all.’

Lizzy hexed him for that, though she laughed heartily at his ghastly suggestion. At three and twenty, she considers herself a happy spinster. She could no more imagine being moved into matrimony than bearing a child. This, she remarks in absentminded tones, as she reverently touches Hermione’s swollen belly on a pleasant evening the three eldest Bennetsare dining with Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley at their cottage.

‘One day, Eliza, you will meet a person who will give you cause to regret your words,’ Jane says in gently chastising tones.

‘Dear Jane, not I!’ Lizzy exclaims, her brown eyes dancing with amusement.

‘It is silly for one to assume that there are impossibilities,’ Hermione rebukes. ‘Why, simply cast your eyes at the man I now call husband.’

Their party laughs, Ron good-naturedly. It is true after all, that one cannot imagine a more improbable couple. Hermione is a Muggle-born, fetched to Hogwarts by Dumbledore himself from her mundane existence amidst her Muggle family, none of whom bore any magical ability. Harry, Ron and Hermione were in the same House and year, and were thrown together in the easy manner created by frequency and proximity. It was their fighting alongside each other in the Auror Corps during the war, which sealed the bonds formed in school.

Harry was the least surprised by his friends’ engagement. He witnessed for himself the light their romance has brought to their lives in those dark, desperate days four years ago. He watches contentedly the tender way with which his childhood friend addresses his pregnant wife. He is glad for their company in Longbourn. When Harry left the Aurors, they have chosen to remain with the Corps, and Harry does not see them but for a scant few times a year. They have now returned for Hermione to give birth to their first child amongst family and friends.

They spend the rest of the evening teasing Lizzy of the men or women it would _not_ be impossible to prevail on her to marry, until she declares herself quite nauseous with the topic. She drapes herself dramatically over the fainting couch, holding a hand to her forehead.

‘Courtship and marriage! Is there nothing else to occupy our minds and conversations? Oh, I could name a thousand topics more diverting and worthy of discussion!’ she laments.

‘Such as the newest feed you have concocted to improve your horses’ coats,’ Harry says wryly.

‘Do you mock me, brother? Do you not invent reasons to fly to the farther reaches of our estate to escape our dear mother’s anxieties about the ball, and how she might endeavour to bring her lovely daughters before Mr. Bingley?’ Lizzy turns to Jane. ‘She would have you wedded to the gentleman by the end of the night, and the wizarding world would lose its greatest Herbologist.’

‘Your praise is inconceivable with regards to me,’ Jane replies with a chuckle. ‘I am hardly so talented a Herbologist that my lack of a presence will make any difference to our kind. I dare not even own the title!’

Her demurs are thoroughly renounced by her friends, who expound on her numerous contributions to the field and the accolades she has received from highly respected scholars. As Lizzy puts it succinctly, Jane’s modesty needs not undermine the considerable achievements worthy of the title the Daily Prophet has bestowed upon her as “The Year’s Most Promising Young Herbologist”.

Despite Lizzy’s amusing suggestion that Jane would have to depart the wizarding world upon marriage to a Muggle, Harry knows his sisters well enough to be chary of introducing their Muggle partners to magic instead, should they indeed wed Muggles. He comforts himself with the knowledge that his sisters’ marriages to are not impending. Where their beauty and character recommend themselves, their lack of a fortune places them in disfavour in the eyes of the Muggle families that know them, and Longbourn is far enough from the nexus of the magical folk that no productive courtship is to be had with other wizards and witches, once they have left school. It is also well known that Jane is still nursing a broken heart from the untimely death of Mr. Cedric Diggory in the war. They were engaged to be married.

Harry privately thinks there is some merit to be considered of his mother’s suggestion of a holiday amongst larger society. Perhaps there are monies he could move around to make the wistful idea into reality. However, there is a large expense he foresees regarding the Longbourn house elf, Dobby. The house elf has come of age last year, and since his forebear’s demise six years prior, has been serving the Bennets alone. Harry wants to bring another elf to Longbourn, but he gathers from his thus far superficial research that it will be a complicated process involving the compatibility between house elf and house.

Amidst these domestic concerns and the regular appointments they must keep as is expected by society, the much-anticipated ball at Meryton arrives. Between a silly argument between Lydia and Lizzy, and Mrs. Bennet’s fussing, the Bennet family, sans Mr. Bennet, arrives at the assembly room with a fraught air. Their friends know them well enough to see the cause, and move quickly to separate Lizzy and Lydia. The two ladies, who are similar in their willingness to laugh, are soon enjoying themselves with dancing and conversation. Standing to the side with Jane, Hermione and Ron, Harry observes that most of the room are distracted by the anticipation of the party from Netherfield.

For there is to be a large party expected. Shortly after Harry and the other gentlemen of the neighbourhood visited Mr. Bingley, the young man was called back to London. Mrs. Bennet’s disconcertion was easily soothed by news that Mr. Bingley would bring with him a large party to Netherfield when he returns, as well as a following report of six ladies and ten gentlemen making up the party. These enthusiastic numbers were soon whittled down to three ladies and four gentlemen. This last communiqué proves accurate when Bingley enters the assembly room with his party at last.

Mr. Bingley, good-looking and amiable, draws most of the praise. His sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, attract some admiration for their fine gowns and London-polished manners. Mr. Hurst shows himself to be a gentleman in name only with a rather boorish remark to his wife on the slowness of servants with the wine. Bingley’s friends capture the rest of the attention.

Of Mr. Darcy, with his fine, tall person, handsome features and noble mien, within five minutes of his entrance, circulates news of his having ten thousand a year. Of the remaining two gentlemen and lady, the Muggle community finds themselves bereft of any information beyond their names that could illuminate their background.

Mr. Blaise Zabini is a tall, well-built, dark young man dressed in a beautifully cut coat accentuated with a bright, patterned cravat. He gazes around the room with frank curiosity, whispering at points to the lady at his elbow, Miss Pansy Parkinson. The lady is by no measure the handsomest woman in the room, but she commands a degree of cautious attention for her air of stout confidence and slow, sly smile.The last gentleman, Mr. Draco Malfoy, gives a striking impression: white-blonde hair fashionably tousled; dressed in dark clothes that seem almost plain, but upon closer inspection, would reveal themselves to be made from rich, vivid materials worth at least ten Galleons a metre; and a cold, reserved air that wards off the slightest attempt at approach.

The last three members of the Netherfield party are well known to the wizarding families of Longbourn, to Harry, Ron and Hermione in particular, for they were in their year at Hogwarts. Jane reaches for her brother’s arm, as across the room, Lizzy gasps in outrage. The Weasleys exchange glances, their brows furrowed in consternation. Harry alone is uncertain of an appropriate response. This results in a stilted reception of Bingley’s approach and subsequent introductions of their respective parties, a puzzling occurrence for Bingley, who found Mr. Henry an agreeable fellow at their first meeting.

It has been four years since Harry laid eyes upon Malfoy, when Harry spoke in defence of the wizard at his trial before the Wizengamot. The outcome was Malfoy’s freedom from the chains of Azkaban, where he was imprisoned for a year on exaggerated counts of war crimes. Malfoy cut a pitiable figure then: a skeletal, cowering creature with starving eyes that pierced Harry’s chest. He was not to be compared to the haughty, mean bully Harry knew from school, and both iterations are unimaginable in the light of the Malfoy they behold now.

The Muggles are eager to welcome Bingley and his party into their fold. They are unfazed by the obvious reticence of the Longbourn families. Most residents of Meryton agree that while the Longbourn families are most amiable neighbours and jolly fun at balls and parties, they are distinctly _odd_. Their strangeness is present in various forms: they do not engage any servants, and are yet able to offer most respectable forms of entertainment for their guests; uncanny noises could often be discerned from their district, carrying across the mile to town;and the most irregular of all, they send their daughters with their sons to school. It is said to be a prestigious public school in Scotland their families have attended for generations to be sure, but queer, for what use is there to send daughters to school, the Meryton society often ask.

Mrs. Bennet is distressed by the other wizards’ presence in Bingley’s party. ‘This is most provoking,’ she says to her children. ‘The Malfoy boy _would_ know the principal families in residence at Longbourn. It is incredible that he and his kind should show their faces here! What does he mean by ingratiating himself with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy?’

Mrs. Bennet need not agitate herself for long, however, as Mr. Bingley, caught by Jane’s blue eyes from the first, soon asks Jane to dance with him after Harry introduces his family. Jane accepts, her smile sweet and a little surprised. Mrs. Bennet could scarcely contain her emotions, and when she finds Harry an unsatisfactory conversationalist, seeks out Mrs. Diggory. Harry is more than a little relieved.

‘Mrs. Bennet is correct,’ Hermione says, her eyes following their former schoolmates around the room. ‘They must know that we live here. It is a simple matter of inventing a dying aunt or uncle to defer their friends’ invitation to Netherfield. This forces me to conclude quite naturally that they are in Hertfordshire for a purpose.’

‘I did not think they would deign to associate themselves with Muggles,’ Ron adds.

‘Oh, the Malfoys have a well-recorded history of dalliances with prominent Muggles – nobility even. I would imagine that Bingley and Darcy are certainly rich enough to be useful for our pureblood friends. But you are right to suppose that Zabini and Parkinson have no such connections.’

Ron sighs. ‘And here I thought ourselves rid of Malfoy when he disappeared all those years ago.’

It will suffice to say that Harry’s relationship with Malfoy is a strained one. There is the historic rivalry between their Houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin, the former to which Harry, Ron, Hermione, Lizzy and Lydia belong. Most students maintain a mere pretence of competition in homage to tradition, but the enmity between Harry and Malfoy was genuine on both sides. For Harry, it stems from disdain at Malfoy’s arrogance for a station in life _he_ has achieved nothing to earn, and disgust at the manner with which he had regarded everyone else he saw as inferior to himself. Such feelings were strengthened with the rise of that dark order, the “Knights for Freedom”, for which the Malfoy family publicly expressed support and against which Harry and his compatriots spilled blood to oppose.

Harry has assumed that with the Knights vanquished and peace restored to the realm, he would not have to suffer Malfoy’s society unnecessarily. Yet, here he is. Harry doubts Malfoy and his friends are here to cause any real mischief. The influence of the Knights and their pureblood supporters is much diminished in these post-war days; no one would dare claim subscription to their club any longer. Harry thinks of his glimpses of Malfoy during the war and the boy who took off his chains with trembling hands in the dungeon courtroom; these do not indicate an individual eager to stir up the old antipathy between them. But it is also true that while Parkinson and Zabini are still active in wizarding society, albeit in a reduced capacity, no one has heard of Malfoy since the end of the war.

Malfoy appears innocent of any dastardly behaviour, standing as he is with the dark-haired man, Darcy. Parkinson and Zabini, and the Bingley relations are engaged in dancing. Lizzy passes the pair of Malfoy and Darcy as she crosses the room, and abruptly turns her head to look at them. Harry watches with interest as Darcy turns away coldly, murmuring to Malfoy, who acknowledges Lizzy with a slight nod. Lizzy must have overheard Darcy, because she is all laughter when she reaches Harry and their friends.

‘The man pronounced my looks _tolerable_ , but not handsome enough to _tempt_ him. Oh! Merlin, this is capital! Does he think it my duty and desire to _tempt_ him? Well, Harry, do you not think Darcy quite Malfoy’s equal in pride?’

‘Silly man!’ Harry says, smiling with great affection at his sister dearest to him in temperament. ‘My sister, Eliza Bennet, not handsome enough?Is that not cause for I to call the man out?’

‘Do not exert yourself on my behalf,’ she retorts. ‘You are abysmal with a sword, brother – we must at least agree on the fact that _their kind_ will always be more adept with such coarse weapons. Such as it is, I assure you that I am perfectly capable and willing to defend my own honour. It is a small matter of giving his scent to Rupert, I should imagine. Oh! Harry, could you steal me something of his?’

Rupert is the three-headed puppy dog Charlie and she are raising in a barn on the Weasley estate. Harry gives her a light blow on the back of her head, never mind her delicate curls, admonishing her careless words. They are safe enough in the corner with their friends, but as one who has attended more of these balls than he cares for, there are bound to be perked ears and loose lips all around. Harry drags a chortling Lizzy into the next dance with him, and manages to keep her occupied and ignorant of any other slights to her person.

The evening altogether passes off pleasantly for the Bennets. Mrs. Bennet sees her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield party. Whatever tarnish the Slytherins’ presence gives is swept away by Mr. Bingley _and_ Miss Bingley having danced with Jane twice each. However, where Mrs. Bennet is gratified by the attention given to her daughter, Jane is more cautious in her satisfaction. She would later confess to Harry, to his great amusement, that she had not thought herself as so susceptible to a pretty face. He could not quite tell whom she meant in particular.

Kitty and Lydia enjoy themselves immensely, there being no shortage of young people, wizard and Muggle, to dance with. Lydia is daring enough to accept a dance from Zabini, who, under the watchful eye of her older siblings, conducts himself with almost painful correctness. The youngest Bennet declares him dull. Lizzy, surrounded by friends to laugh with, is perfectly willing to ignore Darcy’s discourtesy, and Harry dances with his sisters and friends, resolving not to look at Malfoy for the rest of the ball.

* * *

**CHAPTER III**

Bingley calls on Harry a few days after the ball, accompanied by Darcy and Malfoy. The gentleman has scarcely sat down when he enquires after Harry’s sisters, looking towards the open door eagerly. Lydia giggles at his artless approach, as Mrs. Bennet hastens to assure that the other Bennet sisters – her _Jane_ in particular – are in good health.

‘They are somewhere on the estate. My girls – they are very industrious, forever applying themselves to some or other useful art,’ Mrs. Bennet explains, beaming with pride. ‘They are very respected in our community, and very much admired for their skill.’

‘Oh! Yes, I have heard from numerous sources that the Bennet ladies are the most accomplished in Hertfordshire,’ Bingley says. ‘It is indeed very rare to find a person with both beauty and aptitude to recommend them.’

Mrs. Bennet blushes with pleasure at the compliment paid to her daughters, and is hence, secure in the courtesy she pays to the other ladies of the neighbourhood, all of which clumsily functions to flatter her own daughters. Lydia looks increasingly amused as the conversation flows on. Harry is too distracted to attend to it. He is searching for their moving ottoman, which has a pesky tendency to hide itself somewhere in the house. The Bennets have a ward surrounding their estate that warns them when a Muggle enters, but Harry did not have much time to hide the magical items of the house before Lydia let Bingley in.

Harry feels Malfoy’s eyes on him, but he is disinclined to give the other man any notice. Hermione is correct (as she so often is) in her assertion that Malfoy must be here for a purpose. It is singular that the gentleman thinks it proper for him to impose on Harry’s hospitality. Abruptly, Harry spots the ottoman scuttling behind the couch on which Bingley, Darcy and Malfoy are seated. He swallows his oath. Thank Godric the Muggles are sufficiently engaged by Mrs. Bennet’s descriptions of a ball she attended at Netherfield under its previous tenant. Before Harry could devise a ploy to stop the ottoman, it makes to dart around the couch, intent on dashing into shins as its favourite form of mischief.

Malfoy stomps his foot down on the ottoman, attracting the attention of the entire room. ‘My legs are quite exhausted. Would you be so kind as to grant me the liberty of lifting my legs, Mrs. Bennet?’ he asks with nary a change in his cool, blank façade.

Mrs. Bennet is staring at him in consternation, ignorant of the ottoman twitching beneath Malfoy’s heels. Bingley and Darcy look nonplussed. This is clearly behaviour they have not observed from their friend. Harry intercedes before his mother could injure the service Malfoy has performed for them.

‘You are welcome to, Malfoy,’ he says. ‘I understand that those who live in town, where you must get around everywhere on carriages, are not so well adjusted to our country ways of walking. But I find that it takes but a few days for one’s body to adapt to the exercise. After all, exercise in the fresh country air is always welcome, would not you agree, gentlemen?’

Bingley obligingly takes up the conversation. He, who is often innocent of any attempt to converse for the sake of concealment, fails to see the transparent efforts of others. Darcy looks at Malfoy with a quizzical brow, but does not mention it. To Harry’s relief, Mrs. Bennet decides that the appropriate response is to ignore Malfoy pointedly, and Lydia, who sees the ottoman, puts on her flightiest, silliest airs to distract the Muggles. Harry has not felt so warm towards his little sister than this moment.

Bingley is reluctant to take his leave, looking about wistfully, but Darcy dryly reminds him of an appointment they must keep in Meryton, and chivvies his friend along. Malfoy draws Harry aside as Mrs. Bennet and Lydia walk the other two gentlemen to the front door.

‘May I call on you tomorrow, Bennet? If you are not otherwise engaged.’

Harry realises with a start that the tall, pale man standing in the middle of the narrow hallways, face serious and devoid of all other characteristics, is a stranger. He looks like Malfoy, and bears the name Malfoy, but he is so far removed from the boy Harry knows, Harry cannot help but entertain the fleeting thought that there might Polyjuice Potion involved here. He finds himself agreeing to Malfoy’s request, and when Lizzy asks afterwards what Malfoy might hope to achieve with a visit, Harry is at a loss to provide a satisfactory answer.

They are in the garden helping Jane sort through her dried herbs.

‘You must ask him where he was all these years,’ Lizzy urges. ‘It cannot be France – not with the Muggles’ wars still being waged. Curious, isn’t it? How life here still carries on as our kindred fight for causes we profess to support on our behalf? Do not their soldiers think these country folk wish to exert themselves for a righteous cause?’

‘Causes with very genuine consequences,’ Harry replies, and stands, picking up a basket. ‘Jane, I shall bring this in for you.’

As he leaves them, he hears Jane sigh, ‘Oh, Lizzy …’

His sisters were not directly involved in the battles against the Knights for Freedom. Harry had expressly forbidden it. While his sisters are very much their own persons with determined opinions and powers, they must concede to him on matters of war, because he had proven himself at seventeen by commanding the resistance during the siege of Hogwarts by the Knights. The Aurors finally freed them after three months. Lizzy was unable to hold out against Harry on account of a long recovery from the grievous injuries suffered from plunging half-starved into that final rout against the Knights. It hence came to be only Harry, Ron and Hermione who joined the Aurors in the long fight against the insidious order.

The fight took four years: four years of tedious hunts, ferocious fights, and agonising losses. Harry prefers not to think of those four years. He has had little contact with his family in those years, though he knew the Knights have tried attacking Longbourn in an attempt to destroy him. They stood no chance against Jane’s carnivorous plants, Elizabeth’s rampaging beasts, and Mary’s virulent poisons.

It is not fair for Lizzy to say the countryside suffered none of the effects of the war – where are the warriors who did not return? She speaks from a position of hurt pride; she has always thought herself Harry’s equal in skill and power. Harry does not disagree with such an assessment, but _she_ had not suffered the anguish of watching helplessly as a beloved sister fell from a tower, limbless as a marionette with its strings cut. It was a testament to Lizzy’s strength that she was able to cast a Cushioning Charm at the last moment to save herself from certain death.

All these thoughts of war leave Harry in a very black mood for Malfoy’s visit. Lizzy has offered to sit with him, an unspoken attempt on her part for rapprochement. Harry happily accepts her offer. Dobby shows Malfoy into the drawing room, his enormous green eyes full of curiosity at this new young wizard. The door closes behind Malfoy, who takes a step forward and is nearly tripped by the ottoman he so courteously suppressed yesterday.

‘The thing is a menace,’ he says, neatly sidestepping it.

‘Only to those it does not care to have in its home,’ Lizzy replies smoothly.

‘How lovely to find you so well, Miss Bennet,’ is Malfoy’s bland response.

They take their seats, Harry and Lizzy on one couch, Malfoy on the opposite. Malfoy accepts the tea Harry offers, and makes desultory comments about the Meryton ball and the enchanting views of Hertfordshire. Born in high society as he is, Malfoy is perfectly capable – and willing – to have an entire conversation revolve around nothing. While Lizzy is ready to play Malfoy like for like, Harry finds himself impatient to have this encounter over and done with.

‘What is your purpose here, Malfoy?’ He interrupts Lizzy’s description of the gardens of an estate not too far from Netherfield open on occasion to visitors.

His sister falls silent, her eyebrows raised at his inelegant introduction of the topic. Malfoy looks unsurprised. In fact, it is so very hard to read the other man’s face, an observation that rather unnerves Harry. At Hogwarts, Malfoy was expressive and blatant in his emotions, which regularly featured despise, fury, envy and disdain. He did love his gloating exhibitions, flaunting his sleek broom or fine pen in Harry’s face. It was infuriating that Malfoy should also prove brilliant at his studies, second only to Hermione – although being surpassed by a Muggle-born was surely a point that grated against Malfoy’s prejudiced sensibilities. The boy could not become this man, who perches on a couch in Harry’s home, carrying a prosaic conversation in a manner perfectly _civil._

Malfoy sets his teacup down slowly, taking a moment to turn the cup around, his eyes lowered. The room is silent. Harry clenches his fist on his thigh. When Malfoy lifts his head, his face has settled into flinty determination, his grey eyes opaque as stone.

‘I must first make it clear, Bennet, that I did not scheme to come here,’ he says flatly.‘Whatever Bingley does he does it in a hurry. He fancies living in the countryside but for a few moments before he is rushing off to Hertfordshire and leasing the first serviceable estate he lays his eyes upon. He badgered Darcy and I close to death to come with him – of course Pansy and Blaise aggravated matters by professing a wish for a holiday, and Bingley invites them along. I could hardly leave Bingley to _their_ devices.’

‘How did you meet Bingley and Darcy?’ Harry asks with a frown. ‘Your manor is not near any Muggle communities.’

‘Cambridge,’ Malfoy says tersely, and seeing the disbelief on the pair’s faces, sighs and elaborates. ‘With the doors to wizarding society closed to a Malfoy, I sought entrance to other societies. I enrolled at Cambridge, where I met Bingley and Darcy. Bingley came first – he is the sort of friendly fellow eager to make the acquaintance of anyone new.’

‘Such a charming tale of brotherhood and camaraderie,’ Lizzy says with a sharp smile like a bare dagger. ‘It would naturally support the stories of Young Master Malfoy having turned over a new leaf – that he is not the Muggle-hating pureblood bigot his family was. Lovely. And, Malfoy, did you think such illuminating reports have reached our ears that it might be permissible for you to show your face before the people you abandoned at Hogwarts?’

Malfoy’s face changes for the first time, red spots high on his cheeks. His eyes dart from Lizzy to Harry. Harry looks at him, and sees the ghost of a tear-streaked, white face, and feels wet, bony fingers clinging to his wrists, pulling him down. _Please, Bennet, please, let me go. I beg of you!_ He feels a powerful surge of hatred roll through him, dark and sticky and filthy. The furniture in the room shudders, and Lizzy looks at him in alarm, grabbing his clenched hand. Malfoy leaps to his feet.

‘I see that I have overstayed my welcome –’

‘Sit,’ Harry orders, passing a hand over his eyes, wresting control over his emotions. ‘Tell me why you have asked for this meeting.’

He looks up into Malfoy’s unreadable eyes. Still standing, Malfoy stares at him, his hands clutched by his side. His words come out heavily.

‘I wish to thank you,’ Malfoy’s upper lip lifts into a sneer, a countenance familiar at last. ‘My deepest gratitude to you for saving me.’

‘Saving you?’ Harry repeats, dumb-founded.

Irritation ripples across Malfoy’s placid surface. He gestures impatiently in the air. ‘Azkaban! Hogwarts! Choose the occasion for which you want to receive gratitude, Bennet, and I give it to you. Eternally.’

‘I do not want your gratitude,’ Harry says without thinking; Lizzy’s grip tightens around his hand. He does not look at her, fixated as he is by the spectacle before him.

Malfoy pales, if it is possible for his fair skin to bleach further of colour. He turns his face away briefly, and shakes his head.

‘Fine,’ he says without looking at Harry. ‘I will take my leave. Good afternoon, Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet.’ He bows curtly, and strides out of the room, leaving the door banging behind him.

‘Wait, Malfoy!’ Harry jumps to his feet. ‘Malfoy!’

But the blonde wizard does not turn back, and Harry hears Dobby hastily seeing Malfoy to the front door, bidding him farewell in his high squeak. Harry makes to go after the other man, but Lizzy pulls him back.

‘Harry!’ she says sharply.

‘What? Let me go, Lizzy!’ he cries, struggling to free his hand from her grasp.

She shakes her head, and shuts the door with a wave of her wand. ‘Calm down, you prat. You will only upset him further by going after him now.’

‘ _Upset_ him?’ Harry echoes, bewildered. ‘Why would _he_ be upset? What does he even mean by that display? _Thanking me_?’

Lizzy looks at him with darkest disgust. ‘Harry, I do love you, but by the gods, you are extremely obtuse. I am not sympathetic for Malfoy in any sense, but even I could see where he is coming from. You do realise the fate you saved him from, plucking him out of Azkaban? Do not you see the humiliating hand you have dealt him with, by denying him the chance for the simple act of portraying gratitude? Well, I would not put it past a Malfoy to use such an occasion to his favour, but I see that he was genuine in this instance at the very least.’

Harry blinks at her. She sighs and releases him. Rising to her feet, she remarks obliquely: ‘I suppose I must inform Ron and Hermione that we are to bear Malfoy’s persistent presence once again.’

* * *

**CHAPTER IV**

The Bennets find themselves often in the company of the Netherfield party at dinners or parties thrown by the local luminaries. Harry is surprised at first, for the Muggles rarely invite any of the Longbourn families for such smaller occasions, until he learns from Sir William Lucas, mayor of Meryton, that with Bingley so assiduously inquiring after the Bennets, Sir William finds it rather inattentive to miss them out.

‘I make no excuses for my past offences, of course,’ Sir William says to Harry with a gallant bow. ‘But I confess that I had the false idea in my head that you might not enjoy yourselves with us! I understand that the Bennets, Weasleys, Lovegoods and Diggorys are perfectly pleased with their own company.’

Harry acquiesces with a smile. ‘However, it is refreshing to venture outside of familiar circles every now and then, I do find.’

‘Naturally, naturally!’ Sir William booms. ‘And such ventures may prove rewarding for young single people, do not you agree? Why, one such productive _venture_ is to be witnessed before us.’ He winks roguishly at Harry, nodding none too subtly across the room, where Jane stands in conversation with Bingley and Malfoy.

Bingley does look the very picture of a man in love: attentive to Jane’s every imagined need, exuberant in his examination of her thoughts and opinions, and desirous in commanding her whole attention. Malfoy, standing between them, looks slightly nauseated. Mrs. Bennet is ensconced in a corner, watching Bingley and Jane with avid satisfaction. Over the course of the night, Harry realised swiftly that Jane was partial to _Mr._ Bingley, the pretty face to which she referred after the Meryton ball. He sips his wine, watching his sister smiling brighter than he has seen in years. Bingley is perhaps the cosmopolitan sort of man, who might take the revelation of his wife being a witch well.

Not too far from the trio of Jane, Bingley and Malfoy is Lizzy, talking with great animation to Miss Charlotte Lucas, Sir William’s eldest daughter, and Colonel Forster. Darcy is standing by, attending closely to their conversation, but with no indication of wishing to join the discourse. He appears contented to stand with his hands clasped behind his back, watching Lizzy with a severe set to his mouth. Harry wonders if the man knows what a fool he appears, standing by so silent and stern.

‘Darcy is a fascinating fellow,’ says a deep baritone behind him.

Harry turns to see Zabini bowing to him. Sir William has since begged Harry’s leave to attend to his other guests. Harry returns Zabini’s bow. Though Zabini, like the other Slytherins, was always willing to be amused by Malfoy’s jibes at Harry and his friends, Harry feels no real animosity towards the tall, dark man. He is also innocent of any war crime, save for a greater concern for saving one’s own skin. Harry could hardly hold that against anyone; he knows the primal instinct for survival very well.

‘He was cold to Pansy and I when Draco first introduced us,’ Zabini is saying, smirking in the direction of Darcy. ‘It is better now, but I doubt the man will ever be easy around us. He is an exceedingly private gentleman, who prefers not to seek the company of strangers. He does like Draco though – perhaps because of how quiet and inoffensive Draco is now, that wretched creature. He condescends to be civil to Pansy and I. I wonder at his eagerness to be near Miss Elizabeth Bennet.’

‘It is curious,’ Harry agrees, viewing Darcy’s absurd behaviour with fresh light now. ‘Well, Lizzy will be amused by his unwarranted attention in any case.’

‘Brilliant, I am so glad to be of service to a Bennet.’ Zabini turns his keen eye on Harry. ‘Now, Mr. Bennet, I will not have you stand by the side in so dull a manner when there is enjoyment to be had. Come now, have a dance with me!’

Harry finds himself quite unable to refuse. It is a lively dance, and Zabini makes for a most agreeable partner. He moves with an attractive flair, drawing more than a few glances of admiration, and atones for Harry’s pitiful dancing skills. Inspired by Malfoy’s astonishing revelation about his education at Cambridge, Harry asks Zabini how he has been occupying himself for the past few years.

‘Not at university, I’m afraid,’ Zabini says with a smirk. ‘Unlike our Draco, who chose to apply himself so industriously, I have been gadding about for my dear old mother. _She_ is the master of our household, and I am her humble servant. I suspect you suffer a little of that, Bennet? Well, she has little use for me in the off-season – so I take myself here to impose on the generosity of that delightful Bingley, and to partake in the intrigues and romances Hertfordshire offers.’

Harry shakes his head, laughing. It seems that Zabini speaks more often in jest than not, a manner that is amusing enough when one has the appetite to encourage him. As is proper, they take no more than two dances, and step aside to pursue their conversation further. With great flair and dramatics, Zabini tells Harry about the commissions he has been sent on by his mother. Lady Zabini is a famed portrait artist constantly in search for interesting individuals to sit for her.

‘It seems to me that most of your errands must revolve around wealthy old gentlemen,’ Harry observes.

‘So they must,’ the dark man agrees with a smirk. ‘You could say my mother is particular about her subjects.’

‘But surely her skill and renown are such that people are beseeching for her to paint them,’ Harry points out.

Zabini shakes his head. ‘Mother does not entertain beggars. She wishes to _pursue_ her subjects. She claims that the pursuit is the very essence of her painting.’ He shrugs. ‘I am glad I am not an artist. I cannot begin to understand her thoughts – and she, the woman I have lived with for twenty-three years!’

‘I do not think we will ever truly understand our mothers,’ Harry says, glancing over at Mrs. Bennet to see her regarding him with a furrowed brow and a pursed mouth.

With a start, he is now conscious of the attention Zabini and he have drawn: from the Muggles curious that Mr. Bennet, who is stubbornly unattached, is lavishing exclusive consideration on the stranger; and from his family, who understands the animosity between their people and those of Zabini’s ilk. Lizzy looks at him questioningly, her eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. Harry turns away, and perceives from the corner of his eye Malfoy watching him. The knowledge of the other gentleman’s attention prickles uncomfortably, igniting a spider web of heat across Harry’s skin.

‘I have a favour to ask of you, Zabini.’

The other man looks intrigued. ‘Share it, and I will consider granting it.’

‘I am embarrassed to admit that I was impolitic in my last meeting with Malfoy. I would like to make it right by him. Perhaps you might be so kind to advise me on how I might achieve it.’

Zabini professes to be delighted to convey assistance to Harry by any means possible. He wears a bright smile that belies the nature of Harry’s request – a fairly alarming aspect.

‘Bennet, this is a favour that entails close to no endeavour on _my_ part!’ he cries. ‘You may indeed prevail upon my assistance in matters regarding _that_ gentleman. As a friend, I am the first to confess that Draco is exceptionally impervious to apologies. He does not readily forgive offences – or fools. From his retelling of that meeting, you sounded quite a fool, Bennet.’

‘Yes, yes,’ says Harry testily. ‘My sister sings the same tune. If I may be permitted to make an excuse, it would be that Malfoy surprised me. I could not imagine his objective in applying himself in such a manner. However, it hardly matters now. I have slighted him, and wish to correct it.’

‘Could you imagine _now_ why Draco applies himself in such a manner, as you put it?’

‘No, I cannot,’ Harry confesses. ‘But I no longer find any excitement in pursuing schoolyard rivalries, Zabini, and I do not wish to expend too much energy questioning Malfoy’s motives.’

Zabini chuckles, his laughter low and attractive. ‘Perhaps not at this juncture,’ he agrees. ‘Well, Bennet, your first step is phenomenally simple. Walk over there, and ask him for a dance.’

Harry frowns in consternation, mindful enough not to glance over at their subject. ‘A dance? But I am a poor dancer – as you should very well know. I have also observed that Malfoy is not a keen dancer. He is always standing up with Darcy.’

The Slytherin’s amusement deepens. ‘Oh! You have seen that, have you? Darcy has unfortunately no inclination for gentlemen, but his looks are very much to _Draco’s_ tastes. That has no bearing on our present discussion – Mother always scolds me for my flights of fancies in conversation. Let us come to the matter at hand: Bennet, I assure you that if you ask Draco for a dance, he will not reject you. Furthermore, his curiosity has been sufficiently provoked by _our_ lengthy exchange that he must want to interrogate you. He lives in abject fear of my having circulated all his secrets.’

Thus, dispatched by Zabini, Harry crosses the room. Uncomfortably cognizant of the attention he is drawing, he bows to Malfoy and asks for the next dance. The blonde gentleman gazes at him, his expression impassive, and agrees. They take their places on the dance floor across from each other. Harry keeps his eyes on Malfoy, not wishing to look at his family for fear of their scrutiny.

They dance in silence, chatter and music whirling around them. Harry focusses on precision in his steps, determined not to tread on Malfoy’s feet, which he suspects might give the other gentleman cause to deride Harry’s dancing capability. He freely concedes within the sanctity of his own mind that he is merely distracting himself from the inevitable need to make conversation. How does one start, when the conversations one has had with the particular partner have always been built upon hostility? It feels impossible to be civil.

‘It is strange how manners can be so different in another part of the country,’ Malfoy says, his tone dry.

Harry looks at him in surprise. ‘I fear I am at a loss of comprehension.’

‘Is not it the custom here to neglect one’s dance partner despite having asked for a dance purportedly by virtue of one’s own desire?’ Malfoy asks.

Harry colours, looking down. He takes a moment to compose his thoughts. This, he remembers of Malfoy: the other gentleman’s damnable ability to discombobulate him.

‘Zabini suggested that I might make recompense by asking you to dance with me,’ he finally says. ‘It appears that I must tell him to propose another method, for it seems that I am not only a poor dancer, but a deficient conversationalist as well.’

‘Recompense?’ Malfoy responds quickly. ‘Pray tell, with whom do you seek to make recompense, Bennet?’

Harry allows himself a small grimace, before meeting Malfoy’s eyes when they are next facing each other. They step towards each other, and their hands touch. Harry feels the warmth from Malfoy’s palm, Malfoy’s fingers.

‘I am sorry for my disgraceful behaviour at our last meeting,’ he says quietly. ‘I was thoughtless and most uncivil with my words. You should not have had to bear it.’

Malfoy draws his hand away, as they turn and switch partners and turn back again. There is no change to that pale, dispassionate face. He merely nods and thanks Harry most courteously for his apology. When the music stops, he bows shortly, and walks away before Harry could stall him. Harry is left most disconcerted.

* * *

**CHAPTER V**

The three eldest Bennet siblings receive a dinner invitation from Netherfield, much to Mrs. Bennet’s delight.

‘You would do well to remember your duty to your sister, Harry,’ says she, a mother redoubtable in her desire to see her many daughters marrying well. ‘There will be numerous opportunities to bring them together at a dinner, to be sure, and if he should seek her out in the drawing room, be mindful not to interrupt their tête-à-tête. Jane dear, how lovely you look in pink! Do remember to smile – gentlemen are often apt to fall in love with a pretty smile.’

‘Will _this_ do, Mother?’ Lizzy interjects, pulling an exaggerated grimace. ‘I am ever so eager for the pleasant gentlemen at Netherfield to fall in love with _me_.’

Harry and Jane hide their smiles, as a flustered Mrs. Bennet begins to berate her second daughter for her crude whimsies – a characteristic she claims is unattractive in ladies. ‘Such foolishness does not become you, Lizzy!’

With Mrs. Bennet’s reprimand and counsel ringing in their ears, the Bennets Disapparate to a spot near Netherfield isolated enough that no Muggle could catch them. Jane is apprehensive on their walk up to the manor, so Harry and Lizzy do their best to distract her, the latter reporting a letter she has received from Charlie, who is touring Cumbria with his husband. It has been clear from the past weeks, when the Bennets and the Netherfield crowd were present at the same dinners and parties in the neighbourhood, that Bingley is partial to Jane. Jane herself has been reticent on her recognition of his favour, but from what her family and friends discern, she is in no way opposed to his attention.

Harry and Lizzy like Bingley well enough, for he has consistently showed himself to be an amiable and generous gentleman, with a pleasing willingness to find enjoyment in everything he does. He may not be the most well read individual, but his genius lies in his empathy and ability to make at ease anyone he meets. Harry thinks Jane and Bingley would make a good match of it, assuming he takes the existence of the wizarding world in good stride.

Lizzy commented to Harry during a night flight that she does not think _she_ could ever marry a Muggle. ‘It is not so much our differences in culture and understanding of the world. It is, after all, no fault of their own that their world is so drab and colourless,’ she said, smiling, as she gazes down at the velvety darkness of the slumbering land beneath them. ‘I would hesitate to fall in love with any Muggle based on the poor understanding that we would have of each other’s characters. Only love borne of deepest mutual respect and trust could move me into matrimony – and how could there be genuine respect when a witch must hide such a crucial part of herself from her partner?’

Lizzy, for all her contempt for romance and marriage, is at heart as large a romantic as Madame Laverne de Montmorency, the inventor of the world’s most potent love potions. Harry knows that Lizzy has embarked on a few love affairs while in Hogwarts, but the war and the Bennet family’s subsequent self-imposed isolation put an end to that. Not for the first time in recent months, Harry wonders if he might take his sisters to London. They would like it, and their father would welcome the quiet.

Dinner passes cheerily enough. Bingley and his sisters are delighted with Jane’s conversation, effusive in their responses to her. Lizzy is seated across from Darcy, to her dismay, but next to Zabini and Parkinson, which seems to please her. She spends most of the dinner in riveting conversation with the pair. This leaves Harry with Malfoy, a development he does not mind so much after his apology at Sir William’s party those weeks ago. He is still baffled as to any real acceptance of it on Malfoy’s end, but their interactions that have come to pass are easy enough to assuage Harry’s concerns.

Malfoy is sharing his experiences at Cambridge, a city none of the Bennets are acquainted with and a university none of the wizards have ever thought of attending. Lizzy teases Malfoy that he should finally experience the honour of being the top student in class, unlike at _their_ school. The wizard merely rolls his eyes.

‘I understand from Malfoy that you and your sisters were educated at the same school as he, Zabini and Parkinson,' Darcy says to Lizzy. 'What subjects did you read? It is most admirable the dedication your family has to your education. I am considering myself the option of sending my younger sister to finishing school, so that perhaps she might become an adept and well-versed housekeeper for when she enters into matrimony.’

She looks at him with some surprise. ‘I thank you for sharing your opinion, Mr. Darcy,’ she says, and firmly turns back to Zabini, who is hiding a smirk behind his napkin.

Darcy is puzzled. Taking pity on the gentleman, who is ill-equipped to handle _his_ sister, Harry answers on Lizzy’s behalf. ‘We took the same subjects, Darcy. While they could certainly be applied to housekeeping, they are meant to prepare us for other aspects of life as well.’

‘Curious,’ Darcy says with a glance at Lizzy, who is pointedly not looking at him. ‘I would loath my sister to trouble herself with anything more than simple housekeeping.’

Lizzy is unable to keep herself from responding to this. She turns her head around sharply, and says with some heat, ‘I am perfectly pleased that _my_ brother thinks me equal to carry any task he asks for me, and those tasks are often not be restricted to _simple housekeeping_.’

‘Indeed, you misunderstand me, Miss Bennet,’ replies Darcy with perfect composure. ‘I do not doubt your – or my sister’s – ability to undertake tasks. I do not mean to disparage Mr. Bennet either – I find that it admirable how he manages with five sisters, when I only have the one. I merely wish that my sister need not trouble herself when I could very well execute on her behalf so that she might remain easy.’

Lizzy laughs. ‘Oh! Gentlemen are always so concerned on the behalf of ladies for an _easy_ existence. Mr. Darcy, what would you make of ladies who are determined to pursue an _uneasy_ existence simply for the fact that she could?’

The dark-haired man meets her gaze unflinchingly. ‘If she were to be a stranger to me, I would brand her a fool. If she were to be dear to me, and her justifications are sound enough, I would do what I could to support her determined journey.’

‘Ah, but you are most certainly not a gentleman who accepts justifications that are not at least four pages along, I suspect,’ Lizzy says with a smile.

‘That is not the impression I meant to give, for it is not true,’ the gentleman replies. ‘I have learned from experience that it does me no favours to stand in the way of a person single-minded in her quest. My opposition will only serve to send her away from me, thinking that she could seek no help on this end. I wish only to prevent that.’

Lizzy studies his features closely. ‘You are a loving brother, Mr. Darcy. I cannot fault you for any supposed overreaction on behalf of a beloved sister, as well I should know with the number of siblings I have.’

The gentleman inclines his head in acknowledgement of Lizzy’s praise. There is the slightest hint of a smile on his face – an expression that gives Harry some pause. It seems that the gentleman has quite a reversal in opinion of Lizzy from their first encounter at the Meryton ball. Malfoy confirms this as much when their party have retired to the drawing room. Lizzy is playing the piano with Parkinson, laughing gaily at Zabini’s quips. Darcy, while engaged in conversation with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, is frequently glancing curiously in her direction. _She_ appears oblivious to the gentleman’s attention.

‘Does not it worry you, having as many pretty sisters as you do?’ Malfoy starts the conversation in a desultory fashion. They are seated on a couch by the roaring fireplace.

Harry is amused. ‘It should,’ he agrees. ‘But I often find myself concerned for their potential suitors instead. It would after all, fall on me as their brother to tidy any unfortunate messes they might leave behind.’

Malfoy chuckles. ‘ _They_ pertaining to Miss Lizzy and Lydia, I presume?’

‘You might be correct in your presumption, considering your knowledge of our family.’

The blonde wizard snorts, examining the amber liquid in his glass. ‘I dare not claim any intimate knowledge of the worthy Bennet family. After all, most of society have not had the pleasure of knowing many Bennets – you are hardly in London. Every season, we hear surprise that the Bennet children remain quite single.’

‘From people who presume that marriage is the sole purpose of life, I imagine.’

Malfoy gives him a sly look. ‘You need not look far from home to find one such specimen.’

Harry snorts. ‘Well, you are right in that. Both you and my mother need not fear for my sisters. They are particular about marriage – and rightly so – and I believe that if they should descend into the dreaded spinsterhood, they will do so with grace and aplomp. In any case, I will support them.’

‘What a lovely sentiment,’ Malfoy says. ‘You talk so much about your sisters’ likelihood of marriage, and neglect the commonly held declaration that Mr. Henry Bennet is one of the most eligible bachelors in society.’

Heat inflames Harry’s checks, and he nearly spills his whiskey down his front. ‘ _That_ is the first time I have heard of it,’ he says brusquely. ‘I have no patience for such matters.’

‘No?’ Malfoy muses. ‘You do not consider marriage one of life’s greatest objectives? There are but millions of treatises and novels written on the bliss of matrimony.’

‘On the bliss of _love_ , perhaps. I have hardly read any books that describe matrimony in flattering terms.’

Malfoy laughs. ‘Salazar, I must admit that you are right in that, Bennet. How could I have made such a glaring error?’

Harry glances at him askance. ‘You speak so much of marriage on my sisters’ accounts, but what about yourself, Malfoy? Surely with your fortune and estate, you are inundated with marriage offers.’

The other gentleman’s smile fades. He looks down at his glass, and takes a long sip. Harry watches the way his long, pale throat convulses, an unidentifiable emotion stirring within him.

‘Well, Bennet, I am afraid that a convicted war criminal is not very high on the list of eligible bachelors for any well-meaning parent in the world,’ Malfoy says in a low voice, not looking at Harry. ‘Nor, I must admit, will such an individual be regarded with any seriousness by a person wishing to marry.’

Harry is thoroughly robbed of words. He furiously berates himself for once more displaying ghastly thoughtlessness. Now that he knows Malfoy a little better and discovers to his surprise that the gentleman could be cordial, he is genuine in his desire not to offend, especially when they have inadvertently been thrown together as frequently as they have been. It is naturally easy enough for Harry to be pleasant to Malfoy, when they determinedly keep away from all topics that could lead to mention of the war. Harry has quite shattered the fragile peace between them.

‘You were acquitted,’ is the only response Harry can think of.

Malfoy looks at him with incredulity, a sardonic twist to his lips. ‘And yet, Bennet, you could not have looked at me with more loathing on the first night we reunited.’ He waves a hand, dismissing Harry’s protests. ‘Oh, I am not accusing you of prejudice. I am merely stating a fact. After all, I have made terrible mistakes.’

Harry stares at him. The blonde gentleman has angled his body away from Harry, his fists clenched on his lap. Harry remembers another clenched fist, smaller, younger, catching onto his coat. The words echo in his mind: ‘Do not leave me, Harry. He will kill me.’ Harry looks away and swallows the rest of his drink. The whiskey burns on its way down his throat.

‘We all did,’ he says dully. ‘It was war.’

This time, he stands and leaves Malfoy speechless.

They do not meet for a week, during which Harry distracts himself with domestic matters and grows increasingly embarrassed by his melodramatics before Malfoy. His awkward feelings only gather potency the longer he goes without meeting the other gentleman. He wishes that Time Turners are readily available, so that he might counsel his past self on what _not_ to say. Now that the war has been mentioned between them, it seems improbable that they would converse with any ease. Their arrangement so far has been established upon a silent mutual agreement to avoid all talk of war.

Harry does not think there is any merit to confer any further on subjects of war. Those matters are in the past, and should remain there, as far as he is concerned. Hermione and Lizzy are a few of those stubborn persons who expatiate frequently on the topic. There is freedom, they said, to be found in finally being able to discuss it. _That_ , they claimed, is the only testament to healing. On the contrary, Harry thinks it detrimental to healing to dwell on it for too long.

After all, is not it evident that the wounds of war have closed when a Bennet is able to bear the company of a Malfoy? Harry is no longer opposed to spending any amount of time in the company of Malfoy and his fellow Slytherins. He must also admit to himself with great reluctance that he quite looks forward to meeting Malfoy at those dinners and small parties. It is now considered unremarkable to the Longbourn wizards to see Mr. Henry Bennet and Mr. Draco Malfoy sitting on a couch with their heads together for most of a night. If it were not for her son’s famous disdain of marriage and the two gentlemen’s infamous rivalry, Mrs. Bennet would have imagined reasons for worry.

Harry does not think there is anything to his partiality for Malfoy’s company. It hardly means a thing that he finds Malfoy’s acerbic humour intriguing, the acid that characterised him in school neutralised – or that he enjoys hearing about Malfoy’s eye-opening adventures in the Muggle world. Never mind that his perception of the other gentleman is now shaded warmly by a close understanding of how courageous – and desperate – Malfoy was to take the path he had after the war. These changes to Harry’s feelings towards his former schoolyard enemy are but natural consequences of proximity, frequency and conversation.

He has been thinking enough of Malfoy that he is startled to encounter the gentleman himself whilst taking a flight about the neighbourhood one night. He _should_ be less surprised: wizards living near Muggle settlements often restrict themselves to the infrequent flight on moonless nights. Tonight is such a night, and Malfoy had previously expressed sotto voce to Harry a desire to fly. Harry had every intention of inviting the gentleman on a flight before their disagreement.

Harry hails Malfoy, pulling his broom to a halt. The blonde wizard stops with a wide, smooth arc a distance away such that Harry must raise his voice in conversation. Malfoy is being cautious – a realisation that pricks Harry like stinging nettle. There is no light by which Harry could read the other gentleman’s face; the pale face is cloaked in the shadows of the inky night.

‘Have you been much engaged elsewhere? We have not had the pleasure of the company of the Netherfield party for a while. Bingley dined with us two nights ago, and he informed us that you were away in London for business,’ says Harry.

‘Yes. It was urgent business.’

There is a long pause.

‘I do hope it has been resolved to your satisfaction,’ Harry adds.

‘Yes. It has.’

‘I am relieved to hear that.’

Malfoy’s desire to be elsewhere cannot be more palpable in this moment. Harry is acutely conscious of his own growing disquiet – as well as his culpability in banishing the ease and cheer with which they have previously interacted. He studies the other wizard, who is still and silent as a statue carved by starlight, and admits to himself now how he has missed – and craved – Malfoy's company at parties.

His sisters enjoy parties and balls exceedingly for their offerings of entertainment and new, thrilling company. Harry, who must chaperone them, finds himself weary of the empty chatter and false smiles swirling around him at such venues. He very much prefers the small dinners at Ron and Hermione’s cottage, the quiet and the familiarity a balm to his frazzled nerves. Lizzy quite despairs his predilection for solitude, accusing him of being a stuffy old codger. _That_ is unfair; Harry knows his duty and takes his sisters out as often as they wish.

It has always suited him to keep to the sides of the room, coming forth to take a dance only when goaded by his sisters and friends. He sees now how Malfoy’s presence has in a peculiar way altered everything: how he looks forward to parties now in anticipation of meeting the gentleman; how he is more likely to dance twice with Malfoy and to stand up with him for the rest of the night; how he has schemed to have a place next to Malfoy at dinner tables so that he would naturally monopolise the other wizard’s attention.

These are unwelcome realisations. Harry turns away from the gentleman before him, an agitation stirring in his breast.

‘I will leave you to your flight, Malfoy. Good evening,’ he says in a hurry.

‘I have offended you, Bennet. It was unconsciously done,’ Malfoy’s voice is crisp and clear. ‘I am very sorry that I did. I ask only for your forgiveness and your sufferance. That is all I will say to you. You need not fear my presumption in approaching you or your family ever again – I will not pollute your sight any further. Good evening.’

Harry whirls around, and cries, ‘Wait! What do you mean by such a thing?’

Malfoy, on his broom a little higher than Harry’s, is gazing down, but Harry is caught by his shadow, and could no sooner read Ancient Runes than his darkened face. ‘I ... I mean to apologise. I understand if my offence is unpardonable, in which case I will excuse myself immediately, and you will be reassured that I will not appear before you again.’

‘You are deliberately misconstruing my actions.’ Harry is seized by an abrupt fury flickering within his chest. ‘I am at quite a loss to see where I might have given you the certainty that you have firstly, offended me, and secondly, to the extent of which I wish you gone.’

He brings his broom higher, and looks Malfoy in the face, illuminated by the stars blazing in the heavens above. Malfoy’s face is unreadable, his grey eyes keen on Harry. It is impossible to discern what the other gentleman is contemplating, and Harry suppresses the desire to reach out and wrench a response from him, whether through violence or appeal.

‘Were you not insulted by my presumption?’ Malfoy’s voice is quiet and placid. ‘Were you not furious that I dared equate my experiences during the war to yours?’

Harry is astonished. ‘No,’ he blurts. ‘Why would I be?’

‘You walked away. You refuse to speak of the war to me, even if you are willing to talk of everything else private and confidential,’ Malfoy speaks faster, his words harsh and biting, his eyes fevered with an unfamiliar emotion. ‘You share with me your domestic concerns, and seek my opinions on solutions. You whisper in my ear jokes about your neighbours, and you persuade the Weasleys to invite me to their cottage. You are, by all appearances, a friend, but I know that cannot be true, for you are eager to pretend we share nothing but a vague connection at Hogwarts, and you will not acknowledge every part of me.’

‘I am your friend,’ Harry says numbly.

Malfoy makes a derisive sound, and turns his head away. ‘For Merlin’s sake, Bennet.’

‘I do not understand. Why would _you_ wish to speak of the war? It is in the past. It is over. The dead are buried. Why does the living insist upon clinging to them? Memorials and anniversaries and rituals – I have no need for them! Let the dead stay buried! If _you_ should be so eager to recollect the desperation and cowardice you displayed during the war – well, I will not stop you, Malfoy. You are welcome to your entertainment. I only ask of you to leave me out of it!’

Malfoy’s face is white. ‘I see that I have been fooled into thinking that you could have had changed your opinion of me. I am still a coward and a bully. You do not truly think me capable of changing. Yes, I see that now. I must apologise for squandering your goodwill and kindness – they were indeed, wasted on _me_. Good evening, Bennet.’

He swings around, and urges his broom into flight in a mere blink of an eye. Much as Harry appreciates the other wizard’s athleticism, he is alarmed by the rapidity with which the distance grows between them.

‘ _Wait_!’ he cries, and pushes his broom into flight.

Malfoy does not even turn around. He Disapparates in mid-air with a _crack_ , taking his broom with him, and leaves Harry in his wake.

* * *

**CHAPTER VI**

‘Oh! Harry, the militia is at Meryton!’ Lydia cries, giggling giddily and spinning around the kitchen. ‘Is not that the most wonderful news? Officers! Officers in their smart, red coats!’

‘And thus, we lose the battle against silliness for dominance over her mind,’ Lizzy whispers to Harry, who chuckles.

‘But, Lydia, you do not care for Muggles!’ Kitty protests, blinking at her in puzzlement.

‘Kitty dear, we are very much in the fashion of snagging Muggle husbands in this household these days,’ Lydia says primly, without so much a glance in Jane’s direction.

Jane does not look up from her work, but her cheeks visibly colours. Lizzy exchanges a look of great amusement with Harry. They are engaged in their various occupations in the kitchen, when Lydia comes bursting in, fresh with news from her visit to town with their neighbours Miss Luna Lovegood and the Weasley twins. Jane is studying the Herbology tome her friend, Mr. Neville Longbottom, had loaned her by owl, while Lizzy and Kitty are preparing the horses’ evening meal.

Harry is consulting with Dobby about the elf’s future mate, his mind spinning with the numerous family lines and branches. He had little understanding how bewildering the search will be; a matchmaker must take into account not only the mate’s pedigree, as well the families he or she had served before. Dobby has so far been insistent that his mate must come from South England, a troubling fact for Harry has little acquaintances or contacts in the region beyond Hertfordshire. He welcomes the distraction Lydia offers, thanking Dobby for his time and folding up his notes.

‘Do not tell me, little sister, that a certain officer has already caught your eye,’ he says, adopting a mock stern tone.

She giggles, tossing her curls over her shoulder. ‘Brother, I do not fix myself upon _one_ gentleman from the very first. I do not like to deny the others a chance to win _my_ favour.’ With that, she flounces out of the kitchen, crying out the news for her mother.

‘Do you think it possible she could settle for a Muggle?’ Kitty wonders aloud.

‘I doubt it. Lydia loves her magic,’ Jane says, her tone slightly wistful.

‘But she is prone to anything that offers her the greatest adventure. She has her flights of whimsy – cast your mind back to her disastrous experiment with giant-hunting,’ Lizzy chimes in with a laugh. ‘The girl is quite mad, isn’t she?’

‘Well, we will rest easy once term starts – that is when she becomes the _professors’_ problem,’ Harry reminds them. ‘McGonagall will have her in hand.’

His sisters laugh. Even as Hufflepuffs, Jane and Kitty are familiar with the Head of Gryffindor House’s famous temerity – particularly when Lizzy was flouting school rules in some form or other and being put into detention.

‘It is advantageous that _we_ are not bound by the silly social rules the Muggles regard as sacred,’ Lizzy remarks. ‘For Lydia does enjoy her lovemaking.’

‘Lizzy!’ Jane and Harry exclaim, the former in outrage and the latter in dismay, as Kitty gives a shriek of laughter.

‘I do _not_ require that insight into my little sister’s love life,’ Harry adds, reaching over to give her a slap on the arm. ‘Merlin forbid it should bear any consequence that _I_ must manage.’

Lizzy merely laughs, unrepetent.

Vulgar as Lizzy’s words are, they are true in their assessment of the relative freedom witches enjoy over Muggle women in society. It amuses Lizzy exceedingly to observe the awkwardness with which Muggles regard sexual desire of any sort: from the manner in which ladies blush at the very mention of wedding beds, to the awkward adjustments gentleman must make to their breeches after a particularly close dance. She commented wryly once that it is little wonder so many wedding nights are considered disappointments, when the Muggles put the very act up on a pedestal that cannot be reached.

Harry thinks it unfair that Lizzy be so dismissive of the Muggles’ rather sensible avoidance of coitus outside of wedlock. After all, _they_ have none of the advantages of wizardkind. Witches and wizards have spells they could cast and potions they could imbibe to prevent diseases due to intercourse or – Merlin forbid – unwanted pregnancies.

Harry has little to fear about such consequences himself. He has neither Jane’s sweetness nor Lizzy’s (and Lydia’s) boldness in forming romantic attachments with either ladies or gentlemen. There were a few unfortunately awkward possibilities at school, but the interest on the other party’s end rarely lasted beyond a week. Those were mostly ill-advised fancies, and Harry hardly considers them with any significance.

He gazes upon his woefully inadequate romantic history with a resigned eye. When his sisters are married, he supposes he must reside alone at Longbourn with their parents. Life at Longbourn without Jane or Lizzy is a dreary aspect. He endeavours to pretend such an outcome is far in the future, but his – and Mrs. Bennet’s – observations of Bingley’s besotted behaviour tell him that the time for Jane to leave them will come sooner than he would like it to. However, Jane has been remarkably reticent about her feelings towards the gentleman, and Lizzy and Harry are unable to penetrate behind her silence.

The dinners and parties continue. For all the present curtailment of his enjoyment in such occasions, Harry undertakes with seriousness his duty in smoothening the road for his sister’s happy romance. When they meet, Bingley expresses with frequent and genuine regret that Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson must leave their party so abruptly on account of urgent business in Wiltshire, where Malfoy’s estate lies. He speaks of how the trio brings such laughter to Netherfield Park, a sentiment Darcy surprisingly expresses sharing.

Muggle society marks this contraction in the Netherfield party with little consequence, for the militia in town. The wizards are a little leery of the gathering so many men in military attire; their experience of the havoc caused by men united by delusion and costume is too near for comfort. Still, Harry must admit that it is a fresh thrill to see the officers in their smart red coats and tight white breeches.

The Bennets are dining with the Phillips in Meryton, when they make the acquaintance of an officer by the name of Wickham, a new officer in Colonel Forster’s regiment. With his distinguished looks and bearing, and pleasing manners, he has captured most of the attention and admiration in the room. Harry is little surprised when Lydia imprudently insinuates herself with the captain, but he _is_ surprised when Lizzy deigns to give the gentleman her undivided attention as well.

Lizzy explains her absoprtion with Wickham’s conversation with alacrity the next day. She describes to Harry and Jane with glee Darcy’s alleged transgressions towards the other gentleman, painting an image of a cruel, jealous man who kept Wickham’s rightful inheritance from him. Harry and Jane are uneasy with the vindictiveness in Lizzy’s eyes.

‘It would be unwise for you to speak any further of it, Lizzy, for you have no proof of Darcy’s terrible behaviour,’ Jane cautions.

‘Are Wickham’s circumstances not proof enough?’ Lizzy demands.

‘We have only known him a day,’ Harry interjects. ‘We are not certain he is as reliable as we wish him to be.’

Lizzy frowns at them, her lips pursed. ‘It is curious that you should be Darcy’s supporter. Do not you remember the insult with which he dealt our family?’

‘He dealt _you_ with an insult. I am afraid your good sense is overwhelmed by your injured pride, Lizzy,’ Harry says. ‘He was merely terribly rude to the entire neighbourhood – I do not think he regarded the Bennet family with any significance then to be _particularly_ rude to us. In any case, I do not hold the gentleman’s judgement to any regard, hence it matters not to me how he insults us – if he had.’

‘ _I_ do not care what Darcy has to say either!’ Lizzy cries, bristling with scorn. ‘I am displeased with the prideful manner in which he thinks he has the privilege to regard the rest of the world, only because he was born rich and handsome! He has done nothing to earn that pride.’

‘Well, we would not know, would we?’ Jane says gently. ‘I have noticed that the gentleman is close-lipped of his achievements, which is quite proper.’

‘And if we should speak of manners, why, Darcy has been most polite in all our interactions with him after the ball. Perhaps he has come to regret his earlier insolence, and wishes to make amends,’ says Harry.

‘Merlin! What is this?’ Lizzy throws her hands up in exasperation. ‘Has Darcy been bribing the both of us? You are determined to speak well of the man. I am not surprised that Jane, with her natural goodness, is inclined to see only the pleasant aspects of Darcy, but _you_ ’ – she turns to pin Harry with a glare – ‘how has he won over our Mr. Bennet, who is notoriously cold to strangers?’

Harry demurs that he has been exhorted in any way, and puts it instead to his observations and logical deductions. From the way Jane looks at him, he suspects that his older sister has formed the same inferences about Darcy. Vexed by her siblings’ contrariness, Lizzy turns the conversation to the letter she has received from Mrs. Maeve Fancourt, her particular friend from Hogwarts, who has been attempting to lure her to visit Derbyshire, where she now lives with her husband.

Stubborn as Lizzy may be, she is not without good sense. She now looks upon Wickham with a more critical lens, and apparently finds him lacking. In their following encounters with officers of the militia, she proves to be cold and polite. She brooks no further discussion of Mr. Darcy with Wickham. Thus dissuaded, Wickham turns his attention to easier conquests with no qualms.

It soon comes to the ball at Netherfield Park Bingley has long promised to hold. Lydia had accousted him with the notion a month ago, and the gentleman readily agreed, no doubt persuaded by Jane’s gaze upon him. The neighbourhood speaks of nothing else for the week prior to the ball, and the shops enjoy a healthy patronage. Harry is driven nearly to madness by his sisters’ – including Jane and Lizzy – fussing over their attire, and seeks refuge with Ron and Hermione, who laugh at his predicament.

The wizards Apparate to a safe distance from the Netherfield estate, and walk the rest of the way. It is often tricky when it comes to visiting estates that are not within a reasonable walking distance. Wizards rarely own carriages, for it hardly makes economic sense to maintain a carriage when one could simply Apparate or fly. Hence, the excuse that the carriage is required elsewhere and will return to pick them up after the party is frequently employed.

Bingley, who has heard the excuse in numerous occasion, welcomes the Bennets warmly, ignorant of the quizzical glances their party receives from Muggles disembarking from their carriages. Their host is very quick to claim Jane for two dances, something Mrs. Bennet notes with a bright, approving eye.

Netherfield Park is often touted as the handsomest estate in all of Hertfordshire, and Harry readily agrees, full of admiration for the manor with its many sparkling chandeliers, vivid masterpiece paintings, and rich, elegant furniture. They have come to dinner at Netherfield frequently to be sure, but it is quite something else to behold the manor when its inhabitants are determined to present it to its best advantages.

He walks through the crowded rooms, ostensibly to watch for Lydia, who has flitted into the crowd with Kitty in tow and a determination to find handsome officers to dance with. Harry could have spent his night observing the card tables or exploring the fine rooms, with a glass of port in hand, but his friends are quick to draw him into the dances.

‘Come, Bennet, you are not allowed to languish on the sides like some wallflower,’ Fred Weasley declares, taking Harry’s hand. ‘You will dance with us!’

Harry dances willingly enough, not so much for sheer enjoyment of the act, but for the practical reason of replacing his memories of dancing with a certain blonde gentleman with more recent encounters with other partners. He does not wish to be reminded of that wizard in any shape or form – not in the glint of candlelight on light hair that causes him to turn unconsciously; not in the sight of gentlemen bearing similar figures; and certainly not in the lack of warmth in the hands of every partner he dances with now. He cannot bear to waste any effort in such meaningless thoughts, and undertakes the night’s dancing and other enjoyments with all sincerity.

The other Bennets enjoy themselves exceedingly. Where Jane is dancing with Bingley or other friends, she stands up with him, conversing with pretty smiles and laughing eyes. Lydia and Kitty dance with as many officers as they care for, Lydia perhaps a little drunker than is advisable. Lizzy, extraordinarily, takes one dance with Darcy. She would not be pleased to hear the agreement amongst those who observe them that Darcy and she appear well-matched in rhythm during their dance.

The night proceeds in this pleasing manner – until Harry realises that Lydia is nowhere to be found. The Bennets and the Weasleys scour the rooms for a distressing quarter of an hour, and eventually finds the silly girl in a closed room engaged in compromising acts with an officer. Both are preposterously drunk, and Lizzy has to carry the giggling Lydia out of the room, hastily fixing her clothes with a wave of her wand. Harry and Fred and George Weasley stay behind to Obliviate the Muggle; the loss of memories will be easily attributed to drink the next morning by the Muggle.

The Bennets quit the party hastily. Bingley is distressed to be robbed of Jane’s company, but is immediately concerned to hear of Lydia’s “illness”. He promises to call on them the next day to give them news on the rest of the ball. He does not, and instead, dispatches a note begging off his visit. He does not promise to make it up to them on a separate occasion.

‘Darcy looked rather suspicious,’ Lizzy says, looking with distress at Jane’s closed expression. ‘He saw us as we were bringing Lydia out of the manor. He might have … formed assumptions about her.’

Jane merely nods, folds up the letter, and returns to her work.

A week later, the neighbourhood is alive with news that Bingley has left Netherfield for the foreseeable future. He has returned to York.

* * *

**CHAPTER VII**

Mrs. Bennet is so distressed by Bingley’s departure, her husband dryly comments that it appears it was _she_ who had hopes for the young man. It is true that compared to the young single ladies in the neighbourbood, Mrs. Bennet’s consternation – and subsequent resentment – is very great.

‘I do not know what he means by such a thing,’ she declares at breakfast for the third morning in the row.

She starts her diatribes so regularly in this manner that her listeners need ask her to clarify whom she meant.Harry hears Jane, who is sitting next to him, suppress a soft sigh. Mrs. Bennet receives no support from her audience, but she rarely requires encouragement to go on – particularly on a subject she feels personally insulted by.

‘What business could he have that will occupy him for so long in London?’ she demands. ‘London is not to be compared to Meryton! He will not want ladies with those affected London airs, to be sure – Mr. Bingley is ever so sensible. _He_ will be not so easily turned by a pretty face, and he has no need for wealthy heiresses. Oh! How vexing! He cannot be so inconsiderate – does not he think of how _we_ might feel?’

Harry ventures to halt his mother’s tirade, when Jane slaps her fork down on the table top and the windows behind her shatter, shards scattering outwards. The entire room falls silent, and Mr. Bennet slowly lowers his book. Every eye is trained upon Jane, whose head is slightly bowed, her fists clenched on her lap.

‘I beg that we do not mention that gentleman in this household,’ she says, her voice strained. ‘He is no longer any of our concern. Excuse me.’ She rushes to her feet, and swiftly departs the room, leaving her family thoroughly astonished.

Mrs. Bennet looks around the table. ‘Have I upset _Jane_?’

‘Well done, Mother,’ Lizzy says nastily, jumping to her feet and running after Jane.

Mrs. Bennet gawps after her second daughter, and glances at Mr. Bennet, who merely sighs and pats her hand. ‘It appears, my dear, that our daughter likes the Bingley fellow a little more than she likes to admit,’ he says.

Troubled, Harry returns his attention to the letter Mary has written the family. _The children are visiting their grandparents in Wales, leaving the house a little quiet_ , she writes in her neat, square print _. Perhaps my brother and sisters_ _might like to come stay with us – our uncle and aunt Gardiner are hankering for your co_ _mpany, as do I. It will be_ _pleasant to see faces from home._

Harry surveys the perturbed atmosphere at what remains of the breakfast table: Kitty nervously picking at her food; Lydia stoutly finishing her toast; and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s shared bewilderment. He shakes his head, and begins to compose a reply to Mary and their uncle Gardiner. With his careful husbanding of the household expenses, he is assured that a stay in London would not be without sufficiently diverting entertainment.

His family approves of his proposal heartily. While it would be ideal for Harry and all four of his sisters to take the trip together, their obligations at Longbourn mean that only Harry, Jane and Kitty are free to go. Lizzy insists that Kitty will go, and Lydia will stay at home to help her with the horses and Jane’s greenhouse. Lydia, aware at least of what her transgression at the Netherfield ball had cost her eldest sister, accepts her punishment with poor grace.

Jane is grateful to Harry for arranging affairs so thoughtfully for her sake. ‘You are too good to me – both of you,’ she says to Harry and Lizzy on the night before they are due to catch the Portkey to London. ‘My heart is full, and my words fail to express my gratitude accurately. Oh! I _am_ lucky to be born in a family such as ours.’

Lizzy laughs, tweaking Jane’s curls affectionately. ‘Dear Jane, for _you_ to say such a thing – I believe I have not loved you as much as you deserve!’

Harry, Jane and Kitty part with Lizzy with great warmth, a degree high enough to mask Lydia’s churlishness and Mrs. Bennet’s peevishness. The latter’s exclusion is entirely Mr. Bennet’s doing; the patriarch understood that his children would be obliged to bring their mother, albeit at the cost of their overall felicity, and very sternly requested for his wife to stay behind. Harry is sufficiently surprised and pleased by his father’s rare display of action.

They land in the courtyard behind the main Portkey office for London in Diagon Alley, and are happily received by their waiting relatives. Immediately outside in the main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley, the new arrivals are buffeted by the crowd thronging wizarding London’s most popular shopping street. Their uncle most considerately proposes taking their tea in a quiet tea shop, to which his nephew and nieces agree eagerly.

Seated comfortably, the Bennet siblings can now examine each other at luxury. Harry is gratified to see Mary well. The quietest of his sisters with awkward manners, Mary did not find it easy living amongst four other sisters pretty and memorable in their own ways. It was at Hogwarts and in Ravenclaw that she flourished and revealed her genius in Potion-making. She carries herself with assurance now, her smile wide and vibrant, and she addresses her siblings with none of the painful self-consciousness that marred her childhood.

They spend an enjoyable hour exclaiming over how changed they find each other and exchanging news of home and work. Mary is interested in hearing everything: Jane’s latest experiments in the greenhouse; Kitty and Lizzy’s training of the horses; and even Harry’s search for Dobby’s mate.

‘Merlin, it is hard to believe our Dobby is at that age!’ she says, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Well, you have come at the right time, Harry. The Slughorns are holding a ball a month from now, and I do believe we will be able to introduce you to a few families with house elves and estates in South England.’

‘It might perhaps do all of you some good to be introduced to new people,’ Aunt Gardiner says teasingly. ‘Goodness, I have not heard a more serious conversation between young people reunited after a time apart! Where are the usual stories of romance?’

Harry and Kitty instinctively glance at Jane, who merely smiles and shakes her head. Their aunt is sympathetic, realising promptly that there are no _amusing_ stories of romance to be told on their part, and turns the conversation adriotly to her four children, the oldest of which will be starting Hogwarts this year.

Harry tells Mary the unfortunate tale later, when Jane and Kitty are elsewhere in the Gardiner house. Mary is astonished that Jane might have fallen in love for a Muggle, indignant at the suggestion of Darcy’s role in turning Bingley away, and furious with Lydia for her errant selfishness. She is full of censure for their youngest sister, which is unsurprising for Mary and Lydia did not get along, and Harry barely manages to stop Mary’s tirade in time before Jane and Kitty join them in the drawing room.

Jane appears refreshed by the mere change in environment, and she frequently expresses her deep appreciation for her relatives’ soliticude. She takes immense pleasure in partaking in the activities their aunt and uncle have so kindly planned for their entertainment, and accompanies Mary to Herbology-related seminars, from which she returns glowing with gratification, for the professors Mary introduces her to have heard of her work.

Harry is happy to report to Lizzy and their friends at home of Jane’s recovery. When he is not accompanying Kitty to parties and assembly rooms, he vists his old friends from Hogwarts and his time in the Auror Corps. He is particularly delighted to meet by coincidence Mr. Dean Thomas and Mr. Seamus Finnigan, who were in Gryffindor House with him, at the park, where he is taking a stroll before dinner. Thomas and Finnigan married at the end of the war, and now live in London, where they manage a tourist agency for wizards who wish to tour Muggle destinations.

‘How rare to see you in London!’ Thomas exclaims. ‘What brings you here, Bennet?’

‘I am here with two of my sisters to take in the delights of the city. It has been a rather dull few months in the country,’ Harry says with some jest. ‘I am pleased to find the two of you so well! It has been a few years, has not it? Merlin, how time passes us by!’

‘How elderly we must sound, making desultory comments such as this,’ Finnigan chuckles.‘You must come and have dinner with us soon, Bennet – and bring your sisters! We would be happy to see Miss Lizzy again.’

‘Oh! No, Lizzy is at home. I am with Jane and Kitty – they are no Gryffindors, I am afraid, but every bit as courageous as only a Bennet can be,’ Harry grins. ‘Why, I believe Kitty is _your_ equal in holding her drink, Thomas.’

‘Lovely – bring your sisters by all means! We shall have a party,’ Thomas declares. ‘Oh, we shall ask Longbottom too – he is a friend of Jane’s as well, is not he?’

‘He is in London as well, is he? Yes, it will be nice to see him too.’

‘A lot of folks are in London at this time, it seems,’ Finnigan comments. ‘Ah, you will not be able to guess whom we saw at a _Muggle_ theatre the other day, Bennet!’

‘Indeed! Spare me the suspense – do tell.’

Thomas and Finnigan exchange mischievous glances, and simultaneously turn to Harry with startlingly amused grins. ‘Only a gentleman who has mysteriously vanished at the end of the war,’ Thomas says. ‘A certain blonde gentleman you were very much _involved_ with at Hogwarts. Imagine our surprise at seeing a _Slytherin_ in the company of Muggles! He looks very chummy with them too. Could you _possibly_ whom it is?’

Harry is unable to speak. His heartbeat is a roar in his ears, and he feels too warm and constrained in his coat and cravat. His friends seem to take his silence for an inability to postulate, and burst out with the answer.

‘Malfoy! We saw Malfoy in Muggle London. Who could have imagined _that_?’

* * *

**CHAPTER VIII**

Harry agonises over what he should do. Oh, how he wishes Lizzy or Hermione were here to advise him! Does he tell Jane that Bingley is in London? However, the knowledge is of no advantage to Jane. Shall he call upon Bingley then? He could discreetly enquire after the gentleman’s abrupt departure, but he fears that Jane might think poorly of him for sneaking behind her back. He does not want his sister to think him a traitor! After all, how does he know she _wants_ to hear from Bingley in the first place? His thoughts are all a muddle, and he does not know how to move forward.

His sisters see his agitation – it is hard to conceal it when he is striding up and down the room with great forcefulness – and ask him what troubles him so. Harry manages to defer their questions, putting it to one of his “usual” attacks. While this only heightens Jane’s concern, it is at least nothing his family is unfamiliar with. In fact, it is on account of Harry’s attacks that Mrs. Bennet, in a shocking display of self-awareness, absolves him of marriage prospects.

His nightmares were the worst when he moved back to Hertfordshire after leaving the Auror Corps. Almost every night he would wake up in a sweaty tangle of sheets, the shrieks and moans of those he left behind ringing in his ears. Sometimes, he would look down and see blood, thick, hot and dripping, on his hands. He would spend the rest of the night walking the grounds until the first rays peeked over the horizon. It took half a year before he settled into an easier time. In fact, the last time he had troubled sleep was the night Malfoy left.

He tells himself that it is not due to any desire to see Malfoy that he seeks Bingley out. He repeats it to himself as he asks Thomas and Finniganabout entry into prestigious Muggle assembly rooms. They do not question him, but obligingly find him a path in and even refuse to accept his offer to pay their usual fee. He reminds himself of his brotherly obligation as he walks into the crowded room, ignoring the curious glances he receives.

His defences – admittedly flimsy as they are – shatter the moment he sees a blonde head across the room and his excitement falters when he realises it is a stranger. He spends the rest of his night standing by the side of the room, unable to introduce himself to anyone or for anyone to introduce themselves to him, for he is a stranger to most of the society in the room. He leaves early, thoroughly disgusted with himself, for he must now admit that his desire to see Bingley is entirely selfishly motivated.

He waves off the man who offers to hail him a hackney, and begins the long, cold walk home. He needs to think. He needs to be _certain._

Harry is not the sexless prude Lizzy likes to tease him to be. He is aware of his inclination for gentlemen. However, the one thing he visited a brothel with his Auror mates, he discovered a distaste for meaningless fornication. He could very well experience the same release with his hand, and at no cost too. Couple this realisation with his natural wariness and reluctance to venture outside of familiar company, this leaves Harry very much like a monk.

He does not think about it for the most part – until now, when the thought of Malfoy conjures worries about his lack of experience for a reason Harry does not want to know. He _knows_ that he enjoyed his time with Malfoy. He will admit that even during their schoolyard rivalry, there is something else in their powerful hatred of each other – from Malfoy’s aggressive desire to provoke Harry’s anger and hence, ensnare his attention, to Harry’s turbulent impulse to overwhelm, to compel, to bend Malfoy to his bidding.

Perhaps that is what was so sickening to Harry about Malfoy fleeing the castle during the seige. The Slytherin had refused to listen to Harry’s exhortation to stay, and dismissed Harry’s argument that it would be far safer in Hogwarts than for him to throw his lot with the Knights on the basis that he is a Malfoy.

‘We have had our differences, Malfoy, but even _I_ do not think that you will be foolish enough to do this!’ Harry shouted, brandishing his wand in Malfoy’s face. ‘If you go out to _them_ , you are against us, do you hear me? We will not hesitate to kill you if we should meet in the future.’

Malfoy stared at him, face gaunt, fingers white around his dark wand. His silver eyes were luminous in the darkness. ‘You are a fool, Bennet. If we are all to stay in here, we will not even have the chance to attempt to kill each other _in the future_. Move aside!’

There was a battle between them – of course there was; Malfoy is evenly matched in ability and tenacity with Harry. Harry prevailed, but in the end, he could not hold on to his dominance over the other wizard, for Malfoy supplicated himself before Harry, and Harry was so horrified by the sight of Malfoy weeping, he let him go. Harry was right in the end that Hogwarts was the safer bet, for the next time they met, Malfoy was a prisoner in chains.

Why should he have spoken up for the wretched man? He could not – and still cannot – account for it. He saw Malfoy’s name in the list of imprisoned Knights they printed in the _Daily Prophet_ , and when he made enquiries, he was stunned to discover that Malfoy had already been incarcerated in Azkaban for a year by that point. Harry further interviewed the Auror who captured Malfoy.

‘Ah, him. The Malfoy gentleman. He was found _with_ the group of them, to be sure,’ the Auror said. ‘No, I do not have proof that he is a murderer … why, I do not need it. You need only look at him, Bennet! The man is a Malfoy. Did not you hear about what his _father_ did to that Muggle family in Wiltshire? The Malfoys are an evil lot, I assure you.’

It was grinding work, seeking out people who might be able to attest to Malfoy’s innocence and structuring his petition to the Wizengamot. His friends had asked him repeatedly why he was doing this for a man who is nothing to him. He often replied that he merely did not wish to witness injustice. When he were more truthful to those close to him, he admitted that it was also galling to see how far Malfoy, his erstwhile rival, an individual who once met him blow for blow, had fallen. _Now_ that he thinks about it, there is something perhaps in his impulse to dominate: in saving Malfoy from Azkaban, he clutches the other man within the hold of an obligation.

However, the moment Harry lay eyes upon Malfoy in the grey, dank courtroom, he shed any desire to have anything to do with the other man. Whittled down to white skin stretched over bone, wispy blonde hair falling out in chunks, and those silvery eyes enormous and staring and accusing, Malfoy is a wraith. Harry could not look at him, could not present his testimony fast enough, and when the judge ruled in Harry’s favour, could not bear Malfoy’s whispered gratitude for any longer than a second.

He wanted to _save_ Malfoy, but he did not want to see how the war had ruined him. He refuses to speak of the war with Malfoy not so much because he thought Malfoy still culpable for his crimes, but because he does not want to know why Malfoy still flinches when someone approaches him from behind unexpectedly. He does not want to know what Malfoy’s nightmares are … Not yet. Not when Harry has yet to expunge _his_ own nightmares.

Harry walks until his feet are hurting, and he continues walking on for longer. By the time he has reached the Gardiners’ house, it is the evanescent period between deep night and early morning, and he has composed a letter in his head. He takes but a few moments to scribble the lines down in parchment, and sends it off by his uncle’s owl. He then falls into bed and into sleep.

* * *

**CHAPTER IX**

Harry dresses with enough care on the morning of his appointment to cause Kitty to remark upon it curiously. His stammering response cause his others sisters to look up from their occupations, their eyes narrowed with suspicion. He quickly takes his leave then, Disapparating to Diagon Alley an hour ahead of his appointment at Sugarplum Tea Shop. He uses the time to steady his thoughts and ready his explanations. He does not want to imagine failing.

His guest arrives on time, ducking into the corner booth Harry has chosen and apologising for making Harry wait. Harry stands, helping the other wizard out of his coat.

‘Oh, no, I hardly waited at all! It is a small matter.’

Mr. Dennis Creevey glances at the half-drunk cup of tea on the table, and returns his gaze questioningly to Harry, who blushes and says, ‘Well, I was here rather earlier than I expected, and was rather thirsty. What would you like to drink, Mr. Creevey? They do serve cakes here as well, if you would like some. My sisters tell me with some authority that they are very good.’

‘Oh, yes, I have been here a few times with my friends. It is quite popular with the ladies. Yes, I do know what I would like to order – shall we?’

Harry does not recall having any proper conversation with Mr. Creevey, when a difference in age of two years proved unbreachable in school, despite their being in the same House. Creevey has an unassuming appearance, with his small stature and mousy brown hair. It takes only a minute of conversation with the man to see the passion and energy that lights up his dark eyes and animates his face. Over cups of aromatic tea and rich chocolate cake, he tells Harry that he is working at the Ministry now, in the Department of Mysteries.

‘People do not expect it of me, judging from my appearance,’ he says with a self-deprecating grin that immediately endears him to Harry, ‘but that is the very objective, of course. It suits me, the work there, and I enjoy it well enough. It is quite intellectually stimulating. That is what most of us would like of our work, I should think! You have been to the Department of Mysteries, I understand? Quite an eerie place, is not it? We would like to redecorate it, if we could, but that is very much under the Minister’s purview, unfortunately.’

It is rapidly revealed that Harry need not have feared silences – or _awkward_ silences at that. Mr. Creevey very much enjoys sharing his knowledge, and he is not wary of asking Harry too many questions either. He is full of praise for Harry’s undertaking of his father’s estate, confessing that he has no mind for recording domestic expenditures and often envious of others who do. He is also pleased to hear of Mary’s success.

‘She was one of the smartest in our year,’ he says. ‘I have wondered how she was doing. She is living in London as well, is she? Would she consider it impertinent if I would like to call on her one day? It will be lovely to hear her views on an experiment I am thinking of.’

‘I am sure she would not mind at all,’ Harry says with no certainty that is the case. ‘She does like to be consulted, our Mary.’

‘Oh! Is that so?’ Mr. Creevey looks thoughtful. ‘Merlin, I must apologise for talking as much as I have! My friends are often reminding me that conversations are exchanges. I do not mean to be so rude. You wrote to me, asking to speak to me of my brother, Mr. Bennet?’

Harry feels like he has missed a step and finds the ground disappearing beneath him. He is discombobulated by the rapidity – and ease – with which Mr. Creevey brings up his brother, Colin. Colin was the first in his Muggle family to attend Hogwarts, and in his eagerness to embrace wizarding culture, he had for some reason fixed upon Harry as a role model for a young wizard. Harry had not minded, for Colin was harmless, and after the boy had found his own group of friends, the hero worship dissipated a little. Harry thinks sometimes that if Colin’s fixation with him had disappeared entirely, the boy might not have died.

‘Colin was very fond of you,’ Mr. Creevey continues, his voice gentle now. ‘You were so kind to him when he was a first year. You helped him immensely, Mr. Bennet – perhaps more than you realise.’

Harry stares down at the table, studying the crumbs that lay like grave dirt between them. His fists are clenched in his lap. He feels the words bubbling up within in, sour and acidic and poisonous. He must say them. He must speak the truth, and when the world’s judgement comes in the wake of his revelation, he must embrace it, for that is what he deserves.

‘I left him to die.’

The air is thick and still. Still looking down, Harry releases his words.

‘It was the last night of the siege, but we did not know that – how could we? We were so certain that we would die fighting to our last breaths. How frightening it is to imagine now, for we were children! You were the younger students in the most secure part of the castle we would find, do you remember? Colin was supposed to help guard the room, but he slipped out – he joined us.

‘We were trying for the fifth time to find a way out of the castle, to break the siege, for our supplies were desperately low, and there were so many of us sick or injured … The Knights came upon us before we knew it, and Colin was one of the first to fall. I … I knew it was fatal – I was right beside him. He …’ Harry swallows; he cannot falter now. ‘He begged me to save him. He told me not to leave him, because he will be killed, but I … I had to go. I could not … I could not …’

He stops, unable to go on any further, his fist now held to his chest, which feels like it is being cleaved apart. They are silent, the cheery sounds of the tea shop around them. Somewhere, a lady laughs liltingly. Harry raises his head, the slight movement weighing like an Engorgioed rock on his shoulders. Mr. Dennis Creevey is crying, his tears slipping silently down his cheeks, his lips pressed tightly together. Harry jerks forward, unsure what to do, but certain that he must do _something_.

The other wizard moves before Harry does, reaching out to seize Harry’s two hands in his. ‘Do you remember _precisely_ what he said? Tell me.’

‘Do not leave me, Harry. He will kill me,’ Harry blurts, his voice unsteady. Creevey is crushing his fingers in his grip.

‘ _He_ – Col was talking about _me_ ,’ Creevey says, his tone caught between wonder and devastation. ‘That was what I told him when he sneaked off – that I would kill him if he does not come back. I _knew_ what he was planning – he told me the moment you formed your plan. I was scared – I was so scared for him, for you and the others, and I wanted to stop Colin, but I … I could not, because I did not want my older brother to think me a coward.

‘So _I_ let him go too – do you see that, Bennet? Do you see how I thought – how I believe for so long that I was the reason Colin is gone? I should have said something, I should have stopped him, I _could have_! Oh! Bennet, I _am_ sorry that you have been bearing this guilt for so long. It is not yours to bear, as it is not mine. It is not our fault Colin is dead. _We_ did not kill him, and Bennet, do not you see it? _You_ have killed his murderers. You have stopped the lunatics who have no qualms about slaughtering children. You _are_ his hero.’

Harry has no words. His lips are trembling, and his throat is full of emotions, which he does not know to express and which he does not think he deserves to own. The tears well up and spill over, hot on his cheeks. He holds onto Creevey’s hands now, pressing the other man’s fingers together tightly. Creevey laughs through his tears.

‘What absurd fools grief makes of us!’ says he.

Harry does not how much time passes in their corner, but when they finally let go, he is lighter than he has felt in years. He feels as he might flying his broom on a moonless night, the world quiet, and he turns his face towards the stars and feels at peace.

He parts with Creevey warmly, assuring him that his sister Mary will welcome his visit to be sure. Creevey leaves the shop first. As Harry is paying the bill, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye and turns. He meets the eyes of Zabini, who is sitting at a table not too far with two others. The dark man greets him with a nod, a silky smile on his handsome face.

Harry returns his nod, abruptly uneasy with Zabini’s smile. Still, the other gentleman does not appear deigned to approach him, and Harry leaves the shop. He Disapparates back to the Gardiners’ house to see Jane alone in the drawing room. She looks up from the potted plant she is pruning when he enters, a smile ready on her face. Her smile disappears when she takes in his swollen, reddened eyes.

‘Harry! What happened?’ she cries, abandoning her work at once to fly to his side.

She wraps her arms around him. He leans into her embrace gratefully, but no longer feels the urge to cry.

‘Jane,’ he whispers into her shoulder. ‘I have been set free.’

They sit down, and it takes only a little gentle prodding from Jane for the story to come spilling out of Harry. When he has run out of words and his grief lies naked between them, Jane simply takes him into her arms once more, and holds him.

‘We knew you were hiding your pain, because you do not wish to burden us,’ she says. ‘Lizzy, in her own clumsy, was trying her hardest to convince you that you could trust us to love you no matter what you might lay upon us. Thank you, Harry, for finally coming home again.’

Harry finds that he still has tears after all.

It takes them considerably longer to calm down, for Jane is sweet and empathetic, and she feels for her brother too deeply. They speak of the war at length, the barriers finally gone between them. They speak of the ones they lost, and Harry is surprised to see Jane, who has not been able to hear of Mr. Cedric Diggory earlier this year without tearing, smiling fondly as she shares a memory of her deceased fiancé. Jane has been doing her healing too.

‘Jane … I must ask you this … did you love Bingley?’

She looks at him, surprised, and laughs, wiping the tears from her cheeks. ‘Oh! I could have, I suppose, but he would have to reconcile himself with _our_ way of living. I am not about to give up my work for a chance at love. Yet he is a most lovely man … I have not met any other man with his sweetness and patience in temperament.’

Harry hesitates for a moment, but armed with greater appreciation for his elder sister’s strength, he says, ‘I think Bingley is in London. I met Thomas and Finnigan the other day, and they told me they saw Malfoy at a Muggle theatre, with a group of Muggles. I suspect it might be Bingley and his family.’

Jane studies him, a wry smile on her face. ‘You are giving me a warning, are not you? You think there will be a possibility we might get thrown together again.’

He looks away from her penetrating gaze. ‘Do you think it is possible?’

‘Oh! Yes.’ She reaches out to pat his hand. ‘Harry, I think it is very possible indeed.’

* * *

**CHAPTER X**

The Slughorns are a prominent feature of wizarding Society, and popular as well, for the family’s patriach, Mr. Horace Slughorn, dearly loves throwing his balls. He is, however, selective about the people he invites to his balls. He enjoys maintaining an air of exclusivity, and chooses his guests based criteria unknown to everyone else but himself. Mary always manages invites for herself and any number of guests she wishes to bring; the old professor has a considerable amount of regard for his disciple Miss Mary Bennet.

Harry’s sisters, even the stoic Mary, are clearly in a mood to enjoy themselves. They cajole Harry to spend a little on new ribbons and lace for their clothes, and refresh their dresses to devastating effect. Harry, their aunt and uncle exclaim with tremendous admiration at the sight of the three Bennet sisters on the night of the ball. Jane looks pretty as ever, her revitalised spirit shining on her face. Kitty, who is unfortunately the clumsy, gawky sister, manages to look almost graceful tonight. Mary is utterly transformed. Her protests that she has no need to dress up fell on death ears, for her sisters were determined, and the result is Mary lovely and fresh in a dusky pink gown, her cheeks glowing becomingly.

‘Merlin, I believe I will have to fight for a spot on your card to dance with my own sister,’ Harry says, grinning fondly at his younger sister. ‘Young Creevey will have hurdles to overcome.’

Mary blushes. Mr. Dennis Creevey has been called at their residence frequently for the past week, ostensibly for Harry. Yet he spends most of his time at Mary’s side, discussing subjects on which the rest of the room lack the expertise to understand. People would have found him rude but for hisguileless, energetic manners. Their aunt and uncle, Jane and Kitty like him well enough.

They Disapparate to the Slughorn townhouse squeezed between two Muggle residences. It is invisible to Muggle eyes, as most wizarding residences in London tend to be. To the wizards, the Slughorn townhouse is resplendent: the white marble walls polished to a shine, the many windows lighted by dancing flames borne by chittering fairies, and fresh Flutterby bushes cooing along the walkway. The front door opens at Mary’s murmur of the password.

The interior is larger than the outside suggests. The entryway is dominated by a pair of white Greek statues – satyrs, with their human torsos proudly naked. White marble walls accented by gleaming gold trimmings fall away after the statues to reveal a wide staircase, which splits into right and left at the landing. The entryway is crowded with people murmuring, some in awe. House elves clothed in little togas are darting around, requesting for cloaks and coats in their high-pitched voices.

Mary leads her family up the stairs and to the left. The ballroom is on the second level directly opposite the landing, its double doors flung open. Light and music and laughter spill out, and despite his misgivings, Harry feels a thrill of excitement. Perhaps he will enjoy this, as his sisters have bidden. He still wishes that Lizzy were here; she could always be depended upon to enliven a dull situation.

Slughorn must have been generous with his invites, as the ballroom is crowded. Where people are not dancing, they are lingering at the sides, gossiping and drinking. Harry’s aunt and uncle spot their friends, and happily leaves their nephew and nieces to their own devices. As Harry suspected, his sisters prove popular, and they are quickly whisked off to the dance floor. Harry stands to the side with a glass in hand, watching the dancers with interest. Unlike the Muggle dances, a few dancers are gliding through the air, and it is quite a sight to behold.

‘I hear that you are searching for a mate for your house elf, Mr. Bennet,’ a deep voice says.

Harry turns to see Zabini, looking spectacular in burgundy robes and a smirk on his face.

‘Good evening to you, too,’ Harry says wryly. ‘Indeed I am, but how is it of any consequence to you, Zabini? Do you have a young female house elf to spare?’

‘I am afraid not. My mother does not like house elves,’ the dark man replies. ‘She has everything working by magic at home – quite a fascinating set-up, but my mother is creative with her magic, as you can imagine. But – house elves – it so happens that thanks to my _extensive_ network, I do have an acquaintance of sorts who has house elves. They live in a creaky old manor in Wiltshire, which requires quite a number of hands to maintain. Perhaps they might be able to spare a house elf. I am certain that you might be able to come to some sort of agreement with them.’

‘Is that so?’ Harry says, his heart beating a little faster. He takes a half-step forward. ‘That is an intriguing prospect. Where might I find this Wiltshire acquaintance of yours?’

‘Up the stairs and first doors to the left,’ Zabini replies promptly, his smirk widening into a grin. ‘But before you go, Bennet, are you certain your house elf desires a mate? For my acquaintance would be extremely reluctant to let their house elf enter a household that does not want it.’

‘Oh! I am very certain, Mr. Zabini. I only hope I am not too late. Good evening, and do wish me success in my endeavour, will not you?’

Harry is a liar should he say he does not feel the slightest trepidation climbing up the stairs. Every step seems overly large, and he feels his head swimming. At the top of the stairs, he pauses to take a few deep breaths. Zabini would not send him if the gentleman does not have Malfoy’s best interests in mind, which is a quality Harry observed at Hertfordshire. The only logical conclusion to be drawn is that Malfoy must – no. Harry should do well not to be presumptuous.

Lights burst into life as he walks down the left corridor, stopping when he stops before the first ebony door. He opens it soundlessly and steps into a small drawing room clearly meant to entertain more intimate groups of guests. Malfoy is standing before the ornate fireplace, gazing up at the landscape painting above it.

‘Your intelligence is wrong, Blaise,’ he calls out without looking. ‘This is most certainly not the library.’

He turns, frowning, and catches sight of Harry in the doorway. A rapid succession of emotions flit across his thin, pale face: surprise, distress, anger, and finally, embarrassment. He bows smartly in greeting. Harry returns the gesture, and closes the door before walking further into the room. Malfoy stands still, wariness in his expression now. He watches Harry as might a caged dragon.

‘Good evening,’ Harry breaks the heavy silence. ‘I did not expect to see you here.’

Bright spots of colour appear high on Malfoy’s cheeks. ‘If you mean this room, Blaise spoke highly of Slughorn’s well-stocked library, and I wish to see it. I foolishly trusted his directions. If you mean this _ball_ , Blaise persuaded Slughorn of my redemption. I do not mean to appear before you so, Bennet – it would most certainly be ill-advised after Hertfordshire. If you will excuse me –’

‘Please wait,’ Harry says, stepping in Malfoy’s way. ‘I do not mean anything by that statement. I only meant it as the sort of empty remark one makes when one is unsure how to start a conversation. Zabini deceived you on purpose, I think. He told me where I might find you.’

Malfoy’s gaze sharpens. ‘Why would he do that?’

Harry takes a deep breath, studying the blonde gentleman before him. Malfoy has always been lovely, whether in those tight Muggle breeches or these splendidly tailored emerald robes – he will admit this to himself now.Malfoy has a tall, willowy figure that places him a hand taller than Harry, and fine, noble features, from his silver gaze to his full lips. He is biting his bottom lip, meeting Harry’s stare with a guarded expression.

‘I should like to know that too,’ Harry says honestly. ‘It _is_ curious how he could have known my intentions. We have only greeted each other at a distance a while ago.’

‘He told me,’ Malfoy says, turning away abruptly to face the fireplace. ‘He saw you in Diagon Alley. You were … engaged in an intimate conversation with another wizard. Is there congratulations in order, Mr. Bennet?’

‘Congratulations?’ Harry repeats, nonplussed.

It is absurd that Malfoy is implying that Harry was in an assignation. What could Zabini have told him? Harry remembers the dark gentleman’s arch smile at the tea shop, and the tacit slyness in his questions earlier. Had Zabini _meant_ for Malfoy to misunderstand? He would have concocted such a scheme for a reason, and the only purpose Harry could surmise is that Zabini expects Malfoy to _care_ that Harry could potentially be engaged.

Harry’s heart is beating faster, his skin heating up. He clenches his fists, his palms rather damp. He must not assume – he must not, but oh! He could hope, could not he? It is hope stirring in his breast.It is hope that trembles across his skin. He treads carefully so as not to spill the hope he gathers in his hands.

‘Indeed, I hope there might be congratulations in order,’ Harry says slowly; Malfoy’s breath hitches in his throat. ‘I do like him for my sister Mary. They certainly seem to like each other well enough too.’

Malfoy freezes. The very air seems to hold its breath – Harry certainly is – before the other man turns around sharply, his face an inscrutable mask.

‘I was given the impression that you were courting a gentleman.’

Harry laughs, and shakes his head. ‘I would not do my courting in such a public space. It is quite ill-advised, when one could so easily be turned down.’

‘Oh, I hardly think anything would turn _you_ away, Mr. Henry Bennet,’ Malfoy says with a modicum of his usual acerbity. ‘Pray tell, Mr. Bennet, where would you recommend as an ideal location for _courting_? You do seem to have quite decided opinions on that matter.’

‘Assembly rooms. Dinner parties. Balls,’ Harry pauses, and takes an exaggerated glance around the quiet room. ‘Drawing rooms.’

‘These are but the usual suspects, Bennet,’ Malfoy says without hesitation, his eyes fixed upon Harry’s face. ‘Uninspiring. And what should you do at such places? How does one arouse romance?’

‘Dance, I suppose. That is always a safe choice – along with conversation. There is nothing like conversation for parties to discover likeness of mind and compatibility in character. In fact, I would call conversation the very essence of romance. One always requires understanding and compassion for one’s partner, I think, and conversation is the very method to achieve that.’

‘Is that so?’ Malfoy is smiling a little now, his expression tinged with both amusement and impatience. ‘I did not know you were such an astute studier of conversation-making, Mr. Bennet. When do you judge there to be sufficient conversation?’

‘When one is ready to declare his undying love,’ Harry says, and takes a step forward.

He catches Malfoy’s right hand, and presses it between his. Malfoy gasps, and takes half a step back. Harry does not let go. There is heat growing between their palms, and heat in their direct gazes. The other gentleman’s mask slips, and Harry sees the apprehension and disbelief naked on his face.

‘I am sorry I was not strong enough to truly be your friend,’ Harry says. ‘You were right that night at Longbourn. I was not your friend, even though I _truly_ wanted to be. I had not Vanished my demons, you see, and I could not talk about the war. It was not _you_ I could talk to about the war – I could not even mention it to my own sisters! I was … I was still hurting – I suppose I still am to an extent – but I am doing better. I am doing well.

‘I do not know if you could bring yourself to forgive me. Yet … I have decided to confess that I am deeply in love with you,’ Harry blushes, closing his eyes for fear of bursting into flames; he is too warm in his own skin. ‘For I do love you, Draco. I do not think I deserve to, because I was not strong enough four years ago. I – I abandoned you.’

He opens his eyes, and Draco is looking at him with an open, clear gaze.He lowers his eyes, shame-faced. ‘You must think me an abject hypocrite for accusing _you_ of desertion, when _I_ have done far worse since. Oh! You must think this a rambling failure of a confession.’

‘This is the danger of loving heroes,’ Draco declares, his face serious. ‘Your kind is always apt to believe you must save everyone – and continue saving them. I will tell you now that your work saving _me_ is done. It was done four years ago when you took me out of Hell. I had to save myself, and I did – as you have rescued _yourself_ recently. Change is meaningful only when we undertake the journey for ourselves, do not you agree?

‘There is nothing to forgive, for it seems you punish yourself well enough for the both of us. You _are_ a fool, Harry. Have I not informed you of your eligibility? You could have _anyone_ in the ballroom downstairs – they would all gladly take you, even the married couples. Do not make a mistake – with me.’

Harry exhales a shaky breath. Draco’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, reflecting the flames dancing in the hearth next to them. Harry reaches up a trembling hand, and places it on his lover’s face.Draco closes his eyes, his tears spilling out from beneath his lashes, and presses his face against Harry’s palm.

‘You are _not_ a mistake,’ Harry whispers fiercely. ‘It is but a truth to be acknowledged that we are meant for each other.’

Draco laughs, opening his eyes. ‘Oh! I did not think you a romantic, Harry.’

‘There are many things I would like to be for you,’ Harry replies, cupping Draco’s face in his hands.

He brushes Draco’s tears away with his thumbs, and presses his lips against Draco’s. They are warm and soft and ignite a frisson of heat in Harry’s chest. He shivers, pulling away. Draco smirks, and slips his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest.

‘We are not amongst Muggles here, Bennet. You need not be a prude,’ he says with a wicked grin, and kisses Harry.

* * *

**E P I L O G U E**

It is a normal course of events that Harry and Draco’s engagement – an astonishment to everyone but their family and friends – brings Jane and Bingley into the same orbit once more. With Darcy safely at Pemberley, Bingley requires only a little motivation to fall ever so in love again. Before he could make a fool of himself proposing, Jane reveals their magical heritage. Staring in amazement at Jane levitating every furniture in the drawing room, Bingley merely remarks, ‘Well, that makes redecoration extraordinarily easy, does not it? Oh! Do you have magic for conjuring _new_ furniture as well?’ Jane spends their first night as an engaged couple explaining the nature and limitations of magic.

The twin occasions of Draco and Bingley’s engagements lure Darcy out of Derbyshire, and back to Netherfield, where Bingley have once again, happily settled. It appears that it was indeed Darcy who was the main perpetrator in Bingley’s departure, albeit with the Bingley sisters’ eager assistance. He _had_ seen Lydia’s inebriated state and the unconscious officer left behind in the room. He was not so indiscrete to talk of his suspicions of a scandal in persuading Bingley to leave, but his arguments against the Bennets’ undesirable connections and defects as marriage prospects were sound and passionate enough to persuade Bingley to attempt to cool his ardour for Miss Jane Bennet.

Bingley is of course, terribly apologetic and guilty for being so easily persuaded. He would write countless letters professing the strength of his feelings for Jane and his hopes for their shared future, despite the fact that he calls on the Bennets nearly every day since his return to Hertfordshire. He brings along Darcy – much to Lizzy’s displeasure. The other man does nothing, but sit in the corner, glowering darkly. It is far worse behaviour than the previous time he was in Hertfordshire. When _Lydia_ is in the room, he is prone to ignoring her presence entirely – a development the girl delights in making fun of, by passing before his eyes deliberately and repeatedly. None of the family – save for Jane – does anything to stop her, for they are deservedly indignant at Darcy’s disdain for their family.

Over the course of a week, Darcy eventually bestirs himself to make polite conversation with the three eldest Bennets. Lizzy is most aggravated. ‘What does he mean by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?’ she demands. ‘It is singular! The man merely stands there, looking haughty and proud – it casts quite a pall on our happiness. The colonel would not attend to my questions, and repeatedly looks at the other gentleman in confusion. Dear Jane, could not you make him leave by way of Bingley?’

Jane only laughs and waves Lizzy’s request away. Harry and Jane have their suspicions of Darcy, which Draco would encourage with amused smirks. Hence, it comes as a surprise to everyone else, including Lizzy, when Darcy proposes to her while they are on a walk from Netherfield to Longbourn. Lizzy has been meeting the gentleman by coincidence frequently on her walks through the neighbourhood, much to her consternation.

‘I turned him down,’ Lizzy tells Harry and Jane, still pale with shock. ‘I do not think he took it well.’

In her rejection, Lizzy accused Darcy of being the last man in the world she could be prevailed upon to marry; his pride, conceit and disregard for everyone else around him have not encouraged her opinion of him. She also mentioned Wickham – a name that seemed to have an electrifying effect on Darcy, who recoiled and demanded what connection she has with the man. Lizzy does not stop there. She pinned upon him the greatest crime of all: strategising to destroy her beloved sister’s happiness by taking Bingley away. The two parted in a rage.

Lizzy is quite certain she need not concern herself with the Muggle again; Harry and Jane too, considering the strength of Lizzy’s harsh rejection. By the next day, her rage and astonishment have worn away to amusement and annoyance. Yet she encounters Darcy on her walk to Netherfield, to which Harry and Jane have already Disapparated. He has plainly been waiting for her, and passes her a letter before walking away.

It is a most distressing document, for it reveals how hasty Lizzy were to believe Wickham’s tales. She is furious that the wastrel dare take advantage of Darcy’s young, naïve sister, and she is angry with herself for believing the man. Darcy’s apology for separating Jane and Bingley is exceedingly sincere: _I fear that my arguments against a connection to your good family were borne from my own agitation that I should attach myself to you. In attempting to persuade myself, I have inadvertently persuaded Bingley. I have the greatest admiration for your sister, and I am deeply sorry for having caused her, and by extension, you, any pain._ Lizzy finds it impossible to continue resenting Darcy for this reason. After all, Jane and Bingley have found their way back together again, and Darcy has been nothing but supportive of his friend’s choices.

‘Well, it does not matter in the end, I suppose,’ Lizzy says firmly, setting aside Darcy’s letter. ‘For he is a Muggle, and I will not give my magic up for anyone.’

Darcy returns to his estate in Derbyshire, returning only for Draco’s and Bingley’s respective weddings. He and Lizzy manage to be civil with each other. There seems to be no animosity on the gentleman’s part for Lizzy’s actions. As for Lizzy, her dislike for the man has been softened by his explanation and her observation of his quiet support for Bingley. The gentleman returns to Pemberley, and Lizzy stays at Longbourn, and it seems like their paths might never cross again.

However, Fate connives to make a mess of their affairs. Mrs. Maeve Fancourt, Lizzy friend from Derbyshire, writes to ask Lizzy to come visit her new baby boy, and Lizzy is quite unequal to refusing her dear friend once again. At Derbyshire, Lizzy is perturbed to find out that Mr. Fancourt, a Muggle-born, is a boyhood friend of Darcy’s. By this point, Harry and Jane are no longer surprised to learn that Lizzy and the Fancourts dine frequently with Darcy and his charmingly shy younger sister, Georgiana.

Lizzy comes to see the efforts he has taken to address the serious vices she accused him of. He is perfectly civil and genuinely interested in Mrs. Fancourt’s affairs, whose parents were servants. She told Lizzy of her surprise when the gentleman engaged her in a lengthyconversation for the first time since she came to live in the neighbourhood. Darcy is known for his meticulous responsibility as the owner of Pemberley and its surrounding lands. He is well-liked by his tenants and respected by his servants. However, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy is not known for his social skills – until recently, when the gentleman has come to enquire with genuine curiosity about more personal matters.

He has been most gentlemanly with _her_ as well, although it must seem improper for her to appear so boldly before him after she so cruelly turned him down. Lizzy is quite exasperated as the month goes on to discover that she has fallen in love with this taciturn, serious-minded young man. He does not seem so stern when he laughs at something she says – in fact, his face transforms into one quite handsome and dear to Lizzy. Unable to imagine going home without discovering if Darcy might still wish to marry her, she decides to take a risk: she reveals her magic to him.

He stands in the field, watching with a grave face, as Lizzy spins around, laughing, in the midst of a windstorm of crisp autumn leaves she has Summoned. Pointing her into the darkening sky, she sends up a spray of brilliant orange sparks. When she finishes with her display, she turns around to face him, spreading her arms wide-open, and declares: ‘I am a witch.’

To which he replies: ‘I must presume that you reveal such a weighty secret to me only with two intentions. One, you wish to kill me, and since I will be silent forever, it does not matter what I know. Two, you wish to marry me, for this is a secret I must know in order to be part of your family. If you were to reject my second proposal, you might as well kill me, for I do not think my heart could bear losing you once more.’

‘Oh!’ Lizzy cries out, and runs towards Darcy, throwing her arms tightly around him.

He staggers backwards, startled by her sudden embrace. He is blushing, although he wraps his arms around her obligingly.

‘Mr. Darcy, I hope you will not be disappointed to find that I might just be a bigger minx than Lydia,’ she says mischievously.

‘No,’ says he breathlessly. ‘I do not think I would mind that my wife is so forward with _me_. Call me a hypocrite, if you will!’

‘Several times over,’ she replies, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of "Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry), a film-, TV- and theatre-inspired Drarry fest.  
>  Creations are posted anonymously during the posting period. The creators will be revealed on [tumblr](http://lcdrarry.tumblr.com) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LCDrarry2019/works) on 15 June.


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